Fighting the Good Fight
by Capt40
Summary: Completed HP/BTVS crossover: Willow, Giles and Spike, along with the Hogwarts crew, square off against Voldemort and a powerful new foe.
1. New Beginnings

Title: Fighting the Good Fight

Author: Capt40

Email: dgise@yahoo.com

Summary: HP/BTVS Crossover; Willow, Spike and Giles are recruited to help train Harry and company during their fifth year. Spoilers for BTVS through Normal Again (Minor spoilers for Season 7, but not for the major story arc) and for HP through Goblet of Fire.

Rating: PG-13, but it's an 80's PG-13, meaning swearing, violence, and a few sexual references. If you watch Buffy, you're okay.

Reviews: Always welcome, as long as they're honest.

Distribution: Take as you will, but let me know where, since I'm always looking for good stuff to read.

Disclaimer: Not that this will save my hide at all, but I don't own any of this, I am merely borrowing. Thanks to Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling for not suing me, as well as creating these great worlds.

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             "I appreciate you coming here." 

            "Not much of a choice, was there?"

            Albus Dumbledore peered over the rims of his spectacles at the man seated across his desk. He saw his own countenance flicker in the shiny bald head and wondered again about his newly-developed reticence. The visitor had barely spoken at either of their previous meetings, and this one was no different. 

Lack of understanding gnawed at the elderly wizard. He was quite unaccustomed to that, and it bothered him greatly. Since they had met five years before, the young man had been nothing if not friendly and outspoken. Something had changed. Dumbledore had a good idea of the what, given that the young man was here by himself, but he had no idea of the how.

He suspected the how was very bad indeed.

            "I suppose not. The arrangements are acceptable?"

He nodded. 

"Are they coming?" Dumbledore strained to hear his voice, even in the silent office.

            "I believe so, though I have not heard back from Ms. Rosenberg. Mr. Giles assures me that she will be amenable, however."

            "She'll be safer here. What about the vampire?"

            "He has accepted as well. We have something of a history together. His acceptance was not in doubt."

            "Good. If he's as good as you say, he'll be a help." 

Dumbledore's concern finally overcame his natural reserve.

            "Dave, I must ask. What has happened to you?"           

            "Life, Albus. Life happened." The young man got up and walked out of the office.

            "I pray you can stop it from happening here, my friend." Dumbledore's voice echoed heavily in the empty room.

            "I don't know if this is such a good idea, Giles," Willow said, propping her feet up on her bags in the living room of Giles' flat.

            "Nonsense, Willow. I will need the assistance." Giles sat across from her in his father's chair, sipping tea. They still had a few hours before their departure.

            "But there'll be so much magic. I don't … what if … it could be bad," she concluded. He smiled softly at her.

            "As I said when I came to Sunnydale with the offer, it will be difficult. However, I am convinced you will be able to master your magic much more easily away from the Hellmouth." And be safe from anyone who might try to master you, he added silently.

            "Or there will be plenty of wizards to shut me down if I can't," she added bitterly. Not that she had much left for her in Sunnydale, with Tara leaving her. Buffy and Xander begged her to stay, but after her problems with dark magic, she knew the Hellmouth was too dangerous for her.

            "Would you prefer I lied to you, Willow? Hogwarts does indeed provide ample safeguards against such an occurrence. But you are by no means being incarcerated."

            "I know that. I just … I'm scared, Giles." Her eyes dropped to the floor. "What if I can't control it? What if something happens?"

            "Then there will be an equal number of wizards to help you as there would be to 'shut you down,' I believe was the term."

            "I need some time. Before I can start with the magic again. I guess to purge the badness, y'know? No magic for awhile."

            "That's quite alright, Willow. Professor Dumbledore fully understands. No one will push you into something you are not ready for. And I will certainly be there for you, should you need me." She still seemed sad and withdrawn. Giles briefly wondered where the young girl with the ready smile and resolve face had gone.

            "I know. Just last minute tummy flutters, I guess. We've been through this before, over and over. It's just so much new stuff, I mean, a society of witches and wizards? And a school full of their kids? Even for a girl from the Hellmouth, it's hard to believe."

            "You have every right to be nervous, Willow. I must admit that I'm facing this with a bit of trepidation myself."

            "You? Why? You were born to teach this stuff." She gave him a brief smile. "I mean, you taught me and Buffy and Xander everything we know about killing the things that go bump in the night. That's all this is, right? And we know more than most people."

            "Perhaps," he said with a small smile. Actually, he wasn't that nervous, but he knew trying to comfort him would make her feel better. It was a uniquely Willow phenomenon, and he had no shame about taking advantage of it. "You should be excited about the teaching as well, you know. It will be an excellent opportunity for you, and as you said, you know quite a bit about those 'bumpy things'."

            "I am. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Excellent. It will be quite the opportunity. Speaking of which, while we have a moment, I'd like to go over the plan for our class. Would that be alright?"

That perked her up, he saw, and soon they were chatting about lesson plans and assignment topics for the school year that was three weeks from beginning. It was a discussion that lasted well into the night.

            Four of them waited for him to make his move, typical English punks leftover from the seventies with garish colors in their hair and dirty leather vests. They leered at him like fresh meat waiting to be devoured. The leader had a dozen piercings above his waist, some of them linked by chains. He was as good as anyone Spike had ever come across, and now Spike had only one shot to avoid what would probably end up as a thorough dusting.

            If he hadn't been the Big Bad, Spike might have been afraid.

            As it was, he just grinned and shook a cigarette loose from his last pack. The glow from his lighter illuminated his cheeks and cast harsh, angled shadows over his other features. In the firelight, his scar cut an angry swath across his eyebrow. The other patrons stared at it as they clustered around the group, waiting impatiently to see what would happen.

            "Guess this'll be my last chance, then?"

            Their leader growled, motioning with a head toss for Spike to get on with it. The blonde vampire reared back and fired; locked in a tight spiral, the dart slammed into the center of the bullseye with a sharp thwack. Spike watched it vibrate for a second, momentarily certain it would fall free, then broke into a satisfied grin when it didn't.

            "Bastard," one of the punks breathed. 

            Spike tried to remember if he was Leon or Jeremy. Not that it mattered.

            "Pay up, ya wankers. What was it you said? A hundred pounds that I couldn't beat you? That'll be cash, a'course." He held out a pale hand, glad he had landed the last dart. He had ten pounds left, and not covering a loss to these freaks would have meant serious trouble.

            The three lesser punks started to make negative noises, but the leader held up his hand and motioned for them to pay Spike. He didn't want the rest of the bar to see him welsh on a fair bet.

            They grudgingly handed the money across, and Spike smiled cheerfully.

            "There now. Wasn't so hard, was it? How 'bout we toss back a few, celebrate my victory?"

            The voice rumbled from somewhere in the bowels of the earth.

            "Get out," the leader told him.

            Spike felt the threat and took the hint. He needed to buy some smokes anyway, and didn't feel like fighting the whole bar with no backup.

            "Right then, off I go." He tossed back his shot of blood and shrugged to straighten his duster. "Best not to drink with you losers anyway. Hurts the image." Without a backward glance, he strode out the front door.

            He left the bar and walked casually through the foggy London evening. He hadn't been to England in years; it no longer felt like home, but the last few days had been a hell of a good time.

            "Won't be many a'those up ahead," he muttered to himself as he took a short pull on the whiskey flask in his pocket and headed up a short rise. He was 100 yards from the Thames, and decided that would be worth a look while he contemplated his English holiday. 

            He knew it would be good to see Dumbledore again, and to be away from the damned Slayer. He had to get away from Sunnyhell; being around her but not with her was more than he could tolerate. He knew that if he hadn't left, the pressure would have been too much. He would have attacked her, or worse, and he couldn't live with himself if that happened.

            "William the Bloody King Poof, that's who you are, mate," he told himself as he finished his cigarette. He flicked the spent butt into the river and reached for the pack with his left. Empty. Damn.

            "Gonna be poofed is more like it, yeh fairy," squeaked a nasally voice behind him.

            Spike turned around; the four punks stood in a semi-circle around him, cutting off any avenue of escape. Their feral stances and amber eyes told the story even more than their fangs. Two of them had wicked-looking hunting knives, while a third carried a wooden spear. The leader dangled a length of chain from his left hand that ended with a curved blade.

            "Who do you think I am, the tax collector? No refunds here, kiddies. Now run along home to mum. Wouldn't want you to get hurt." He dragged the last sentence out and added what he knew was a rakish grin. Actually, he rather hoped they stayed. He'd been days without a good row, and now there wasn't a bar full of demons watching their backs.

            "I'll do for yeh, ya cheatin' …" The stake slipped from inside the sleeve of Spike's duster as the blonde vampire lunged forward, ending the punk's sentence in a cloud of dust. His knife clattered to the ground.

            The other knife wielder sliced at Spike with his own blade. Spike dropped under it, landing on one knee with his duster billowing out along the ground behind him, and snatched up the fallen knife. With no hesitation he rammed it into the vampire's crotch. He screamed in agony and dropped to the ground, where Spike promptly staked him.

            Suddenly wary, the other two stepped back and appraised him.

            "Now, what's this about cheatin'?" Spike asked. "I don't mind bein' called a cheat when I cheat, but I expect a bit o' credit when I'm playin' fair." He twirled the knife in his fingers, letting the blade glitter in the light from the street lamp.

            The vampire with the spear watched Spike grin for a half-second before exercising the better part of valor; he tossed the spear to the ground and ran off into the London night. The leader shook his head in disgust. His bladed chain spun lazily from side to side in front of him.

            "Still lookin' to have a go at it then, mate?" The vampire nodded, a creepy smile forming on his lips. He was at least four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Spike. "S'pose I could accommodate that, but I got to warn you, I don't have a whole lot o' time. Got a train to catch."

            The vamp grunted and closed the distance between them until they were a few feet apart. With lightning speed he whipped the spinning blade at Spike's head.

            Spike spun to his left, avoiding a cleaving blow, and gripped the knife blade in his fingers. With supernatural strength he flung it at the other vampire, hoping to gouge his ridged forehead. The vampire plucked it from the air inches away from him and laughed.

            "You got a name, chuckles?"

            Rather than answer, he dropped the knife and attacked. This time, Spike caught the chain in mid-air, allowing it to loop around his right arm and hold him tightly. The punk vampire smiled; Spike closed his hand on the chain and yanked as hard as he could, jerking his opponent off balance and slamming them into one another.

            The punk's face was a study in astonishment as he turned to dust.

            Spike slid the stake back into his sleeve, then tossed the chain into the river.

            "Bloody amateur," he muttered. "Told him I had a train to catch."


	2. Higher Learning

            Willow stepped through the wall, marveling at the seamless transition to Platform Nine and Three Quarters and glad that she had stepped through walls before. Still an eerie experience, but not terribly frightening, aat least.

            The train and passenger cars seemed to have been plucked right from one of her grandfather's model train sets. She walked up to the locomotive and ran her hands along the smooth paint. Then she saw someone in the distance and called out.

            "Hey, Giles, look, somebody else! Hey, over here, hey …" Her enthusiasm trailed off as the black clad figure came closer.

            "Red. Nice to see you. Rupert," the blonde man nodded.

            "Spike." Giles said to the vampire. "I guess that explains the night run. What are you doing here?" 

The vampire lit a cigarette and savored the smoke leaking out of his nostrils. 

"Albus and I go way back. He asked me to come, look after things a bit."

            "You know Professor Dumbledore?" Willow asked, surprised.

            "Yup. We've been on the same side o' some nasty tussles over the years. Plus, I needed out of Sunnyhell for awhile after … things, you know?" 

Willow could certainly sympathize with that. Giles knew about the affair and didn't approve, but he hadn't had a great deal of say from across the pond. He and Willow traded a look that screamed 'it's for the best.'

            "Perhaps we should finish this on the train?" Giles suggested. The three of them grabbed their luggage and climbed aboard; Spike surprised Willow by wordlessly hefting her largest bag and bringing it with him. Giles settled in to his own cabin, content to grab a few hours sleep during what was certain to be a long night.

The flight to England and two days of sightseeing with Giles had nearly worn Willow out, but the battle between anxiety and excitement had her all wound up. She sat awake, restlessly staring out the window. 

Spike silently smoked in the seat across from her, watching the redheaded witch think about the trip. Her evident sadness didn't surprise him at all. Glinda had given her a rough time over the magic. She had, he supposed, been pretty reckless, and he was still right pissed that she'd endangered the nibblet with her addiction, but she hadn't meant any harm. Same thing, he figured, with bringing Buffy back, a disaster that he knew hung around her neck like a thousand-pound ball and chain. She certainly had enough reason to get away, but he knew it must be hard for her.

And he could relate to that. 

They were both pretty much alone, both cast out suddenly by people they cared for, both riding a train to a place that might not hold some answers for them. Then again, it might not have any.

 "Red?" Startled from her reverie, she turned and looked at him warily.

            "Yeah, Spike?"

            "Do you … want to talk about it all?" He asked tentatively, knowing it wasn't really his place. The Big Bad should not be asking something like that, his demon thought. But the demon had lost control sometime over the past two years, and what was left of William remembered Willow's endless kindness and patience with his chipped self, and besides, he was bored out of his bloody mind not saying anything.

            "With you?" She responded in a less than friendly tone.

            "Sorry, pet. I just thought … you look so sad." His voice actually sounded sympathetic. _Is he serious? _Her mind found that reasonably easy to accept, once she considered it at all. He had changed, and he had to be miserable about being away from Buffy. _I can empathize with that._

            "I just miss home, you know?" All of a sudden, her real feelings blurted out in a rush. "And the way it used to be. Me, Buffy, Xander, Giles, save the world and watch bad Indian t.v. and all that and doing research in the library and even hacking the coroner's office, thinking a single vampire was serious danger and avoiding Cordelia at the Bronze a-and …" She cut herself off, her face flushed from the speech. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

            "I know what you mean, Red. The last few years have been more complicated than the whole century before them. I miss … not the killin' and rampaging and feeding so much as the simplicity of it. Now I think about everything. It makes it harder, you know?" He realized as he said it that it was the truth. He didn't mind being the white hat; he hated the complexity of it, but not the role itself.

            "You don't miss the killing and feeding?"

            "It's been so long … want to hear something odd?" Probably shouldn't tell her this, he knew. What the hell, though, might as well. He was what he was.

            "S-sure."

            "Remember when Dru came back last year?" She nodded, also remembering that Spike had chained Buffy up 'for love.' "We went out, to the Bronze. She killed two lovebirds that night, gave me one to eat. I knew then that we could be together, that everything could actually be how it was if I wanted it to."

            "Boy, that's romantic, Spike. Thanks for sharing." She turned away, disgusted.

            "No, you're not listening." He grabbed her shoulder and gently turned her around. "I didn't want it. Didn't want her. Thought at the time, a'course, that it was because of Buffy. Maybe it was, or is. But I just don't want to." Not that Buffy sees that, he added mentally. "When Dru handed the girl's body to me, I wondered what she had been like, wondered if she liked the bloody Ramones, would you believe? Now, I look at humans and see … people, not food."

            "It makes sense, I guess," the redhead said. "You've had no choice, living with us for so long."

            "I know, but it's a bloody enormous change for a vampire, luv."

            "Yeah, I guess so." He could see she didn't understand his point. Well, they had plenty of time. At least she had listened to him. Maybe he could help her, eventually. He lit another cigarette and joined her in staring out the window.

            Spike and Giles knew the enormous bearded man that met them at the train station was part giant. Nothing else could explain his size. Giles seemed a bit taken aback, but Spike, who had known more than a few giants, remained unfazed. Willow was simply overwhelmed.

            "Rubeus Hagrid's tha name, folks. Keeper o' the Keys and Grounds and whatnot here at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore sent me down ter get yeh. Don't worry 'bout yer bags, we'll have 'em sent up ter yer quarters special. You must Professors Giles and Rosenberg, eh?" He looked first at Giles and Willow, who each nodded. "Right then, that makes you the vampire," he said to Spike. "Been awhile since I seen one, and he wasn't too friendly. 'Course, Dumbledore trusts you. Good enough for me. Great man, Dumbledore."

            "I'll agree with you there, mate," Spike said. "Call me Spike."

            "Mos' people here jus' call me Hagrid. All'a you might as well." They nodded. "This way, then." He led them to a set of boats without oars, motioning them to get in. Willow stumbled and nearly fell in the lake, but Hagrid picked her up with one hand and deposited her in a seat. She smiled her thanks, then let out an 'eep' when the boat began to move on its own.

            "That is so …" Willow said, words not forming in her mind. The enormous silhouette of Hogwarts came into view, dark against the night sky except for the lights of individual rooms. The giant turrets jutted defiantly into the night, giving the entire fortress a sinister appearance. "Like a fairy tale," she finished.__

            "Indeed," said Giles. He had never seen its like either, and gaped in awe. Spike and Hagrid, having been here before, merely watched as the outline grew and details began to emerge. The sight left them speechless as they landed and made their way to the school's entrance.

            "Dumbledore's waitin' for yeh in his office. I s'pect he'll have someone show ya ter yer rooms an' all." Hagrid pointed out the directions to Dumbledore's office. As the three newest staff members turned to go, Willow patted Hagrid on the arm and thanked him sweetly. Embarrassed, the half-giant stuttered out a 'Yer Welcome' and headed off to his home. Spike knew the way, and they headed out to meet their new boss.


	3. Joining the Fight

            "Come in, come in," Dumbledore said, coming out from behind his desk and waving them forward. His white beard hung over his blue-robed chest, reminding Willow of a thinner Santa Claus. His voice reminded  her of freshly-sanded wood. She liked him instantly. He shook hands with Giles and Spike, then turned to her.

            "Miss Rosenberg. I am so glad you chose to join us this year."

            "Th-thank you, Professor. I'm glad you wanted to give me a chance." He waved them all to seats, but Spike remained standing and glanced around the office. Nothing had changed from his last visit, including the beautiful red and orange phoenix perched over Dumbledore's shoulder. Spike winked at the bird, who winked back.

            "Rupert tells me you have quite a large capacity for magic, young lady," Dumbledore said once they had been seated, casting a fatherly eye on the girl. Willow dropped her eyes, embarrassed but unsurprised that Giles had told him of her recent history. "Addiction to dark magic is very dangerous, and also very easy for someone with your facility. It speaks volumes that you have been able to restrain that at all. I hope you understand that for that reason, I consented to bring you here as an Assistant Professor."

            "I-I … you hired me because I'm a magic crackhead?" She blurted.

            "No, Miss Rosenberg. I hired you for a number of reasons. However, the foremost was this one: strength of magic is far less rare than strength of character. You would do well to remember that while you tear yourself apart with guilt." With that pronouncement, he closed the subject and moved on to another. "Rupert, you should know that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is … somewhat coveted among the current staff. You might prepare for some trouble with one of our professors."

            "Severus is still hangin' about then, is he?" Spike said, leaning against the wall.

            "Indeed he is, William." Giles looked at Dumbledore questioningly. "Severus Snape, our potions master, is a bit … difficult. He is a good man, but his checkered past has made him touchy. I fear he will be most displeased with the hiring of both of you, as he desperately desires your post."

            The honesty of the statement surprised Giles. Most of his employers had not been quite as forthcoming about potential difficulties; but then, Dumbledore had earned a great deal of respect the hard way.

            "We shall deal with it in due course, Albus," Giles said. "However, should he attempt to harass Willow…" 

She cut him off.

            "I can handle myself, Giles. I've been a geek for a long time. I know how to deal with people who don't like me for no reason." 

The Watcher smiled. Suddenly he was glad that he was not Severus Snape.

            Giles could feel the film forming over his eyes as he stared at his lesson plans. The torches and candles provided sufficient illumination, but his eyes seemed to burn every time he focused on the printing on the page. Willow, ever the student at heart, had color coded the various aspects and talking points for each class to make it easier for him. It wasn't helping. The students would arrive tomorrow, with classes to begin the day after. He knew he had to finalize these papers, but his whole being balked. 

After another ten minutes, he gave in to fatigue and removed his glasses. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he realized that he was not alone.

            "Dammit, Spike. Do not sneak up on me like that."

            "Sorry, Rupes," the vampire said with his usual cocky grin. "You know, for a guy whose birthright is Watcher…"

            "Yes, yes I know. What is it you want, exactly?"

            "Something you should see. Up on the roof. I think it has to do with that additional assignment we talked about with Albus after Red left." Giles put his glasses back on and looked at Spike, whose grin had been replaced by concern. They had decided not to let Willow know about the special assignment that Giles and Spike had actually been recruited for. The Watcher put his papers down and followed Spike to one of Hogwarts' few flat roofs.

            The moonlight pierced the cloudless sky effortlessly, opening a clear view for miles around. The two former Scoobies emerged at the corner farthest from the object of Spike's concern. Giles heard the music before he saw the man. The thump of the bass vibrated across the open rooftop. He vaguely recognized it from Buffy's massive workout 'music' selection. 

Then he saw the man.

            Bald, medium height, some sort of light-colored sweatshirt and denims, Giles observed. He was doing katas from an art Giles had never seen. Even from thirty yards away, though, the Watcher could recognize a deadly expert. He moved like water sliding along glass. In its own way, it was physical art, and he suddenly hoped Buffy would be around if he and this man were ever on the opposite sides of an argument.

            "Like watching the Slayer, innit?" Spike commented quietly.

            "Yes," Giles agreed. "Do you know who he is?" The vampire shook his head.

            Dave Grey had heard Spike on his first trip. He detected the vampire's return, with a friend, the moment they reached the roof. He had subtly adjusted himself, as he always did now when he was watched, weakening his form, lessening his expertise for the spectators. Hiding his true skill. Allies could become enemies instantly. 

He should know.

            They waited for him to finish and begin toweling his head off before walking over. 

            "That was quite a good show, young man," Giles began. "What discipline was it?"

            "Mixture." Grey offered no further explanation.

            "Yes, well, impressive regardless," Giles said, discomfited by his brevity. "I'm Rupert Giles." The Watcher extended his hand, which Grey shook.

            "Spike," said the vampire, not offering his own hand.

            "Do you prefer William?" Grey asked politely.

            "Not likely, mate. You know who I am, then?"

            "Dumbledore is thorough. I'm Grey." While he said it, Rupert realized the man naturally stood in a balanced position, as if an attack might come from any quarter. Grey paused, obviously realizing Giles was uncomfortable with his lack of communication. "I'm sorry if I seem rude. I don't talk much these days, just lurk."

            "You're here about the Death Eaters," Spike said. It wasn't a question.

            "Who isn't?" Grey asked rhetorically. He looked directly at Giles; the Watcher found it every bit as disconcerting as the silence. "I was glad to hear that your Slayer returned. We don't have enough heroes as it is." With that pronouncement, he glided across the roof and went back inside.

            "Worse than the bloody poof, that one."

            "Americans can be a bit strange," Giles said offhandedly. He wondered exactly who the young man was, and why Albus had not said anything about him. He made a mental note to bring it up the next time he found himself alone with the headmaster.


	4. Lost Souls

            Willow kept glancing covertly at Grey while she worked on scheduling for the Dark Arts class. The two of them were alone in the library; she couldn't exactly see what the bald man was reading, but she was curious. Giles had reported his encounter with the mysterious warrior to her. Now, there he was, three seats away. She continued with her surreptitious perusal for almost twenty minutes.

            "It's not anything profound and deep," he said without lifting his eyes. Even at such a low volume his voice jolted her.

            "S-sorry. Didn't mean to stare," she said nervously. He looked up at her, his face neutral.

            "It's no problem." He held up the beat-up book. "Sword of Truth. Terry Goodkind. Ever read it?" Part of him wondered what he was doing, starting a conversation with this extremely dangerous girl. Another part of him, nearly dead, told him they both might need a friend before this whole thing ended.

            "Actually, I have," Willow said. She smiled; it lit her face up like a candle. "I read them all. The fifth one, _Soul of the Fire? Not so good, but I loved the others."_

            "Definitely. I wasn't wild about _Temple of the Winds either, but overall, the man can write."_

            "I'm Willow," she said, setting her work down and turning to face him. She thought she caught a hint of a smile on his lips, but it was fleeting, and possibly hadn't been there at all.

            "Grey. Giles probably told you."

            "He did. Is that your whole name? Grey? 'Cause that would be silly."

            "And Willow is a dour and serious name," he said. The sarcasm seemed at odds with his facial expression. She wondered if he had once been cheerful and funny but had stopped. "Dave. Dave Grey."

            "Not David?" 

            "No. Never."    The look on his face might have soured milk. His tone would have done it for sure.

            "Sorry." She had no idea what to say.

            "No, don't be. You didn't know. It's just … bad memories, okay?" It was more than he had offered of himself in a long time, even if she didn't know it. Damn. The girl was really getting to him after two minutes of conversation.

            "Okay. Dave it is," she said, smiling again. "So what do you do here? Giles, as my friend would say, vagued that part up."

            "Buffy Summers, right?"

            "Yeah. How'd you know?"

            "Dumbledore briefed me on the staff. I … know about Slayers and the Watcher's Council from some work I used to do. Buffy's a legend."

            "She's pretty special. But don't think you're getting out of my question, mister. I want to know." He wanted to laugh at her indignance. And that hadn't happened in a long time either.

            "I'm Dumbledore's insurance policy," was his cryptic answer.

            "Against what?"

            "Do you know about Harry Potter and Voldemort?" he asked.

            "I know that Voldemort's this uber-bad wizard and that somehow he couldn't defeat that Potter kid. I read it in one of Giles' Wizarding histories. What does that have to do with Hogwarts?"

            "Harry's a fifth-year. Voldemort has tried to kill him several times since he arrived. He killed Harry's parents." He said the name Voldemort as if it was a dirty and offensive word. Willow's face shifted from interested to aghast at the news. She hadn't known Harry Potter was a student here. All of a sudden, Hogwarts didn't seem like such a safe haven from dark magic.

            "What does that have to do with you?"

            "I'm an old friend of Dumbledore's, with certain useful skills. I'm here to keep an eye on things, said things being Harry and his friends. They wreak havoc without a thought for there safety," he said simply. "I'm the thought."

            "Wow. Mucho responsibility, huh?"

            "Actually …" He realized he was about to say something personal to someone who had known him for an hour. That didn't happen anymore, and it sure as hell wasn't happening now. "Never mind. I hear they're good kids. It shouldn't be too bad." They looked at each other in horror. "I just said that aloud, didn't I?"


	5. Missing in Action

            Willow watched from the table as Minerva McGonagall led the first-years in for the sorting ceremony. McGonagall had explained the ceremony and the house system to her two days before. Though eager to see the ceremony itself, she found herself distracted and glancing around. The dining hall amazed her anew at every meal, even after three weeks. The sky-ceiling glowed a deep, rich indigo that night, speckled with stars. Candles hovered just out of reach above the tables. The older students had already marched in; glancing about, Willow could not find anyone resembling the pictures of Harry Potter at the Gryffindor table. Their seemed to be an unusual amount of commotion there, indicating to Willow that something was amiss, probably Harry's absence. She snuck a look at Grey, situated several seats down, and noticed the concerned look on his normally-neutral face. Something was clearly rotten in Denmark.

            She was starting to like the very odd man. For one thing, he was her age, a seriously rare commodity for someone older than the students and younger than the teachers. He surprised her the day before by accepting her invitation to dinner. Though he hardly could be called talkative, he at least had been pleasant and companionable about his silence. She had thought about it before bed and realized that he very much wanted to say more, to be more friendly. Something held him back, though; Willow figured it had to be something large and scary. He didn't seem like the type to be cowed. Plenty of time to decipher that mystery later, she thought as the ceremony commenced.

            The trepidation on the faces of the first-years was almost cute, vanishing instantly when they were shuffled off to one of the four houses. Most of the unpleasant and haugty visages went to the Slytherin table, she noted. Fortunately, she had avoided Snape for three solid weeks, and intended to do so for as long as possible.

            Though it must have seemed interminable to the participants, the sorting ceremony actually went quite quickly. Professor McGonagall returned to her seat with a smile and nod to Dumbledore, who rose regally and brought swift silence with a raised his hand.

            "Ladies and Gentlemen, I bid you welcome once again for a new Hogwarts year. For those of you joining us for the first time, I bid you your first welcome. Before we begin our meal, you older students will be surprised to know that I have several announcements." A small chuckle vibrated through the crowd. "As always, no one is to enter the Dark Forest at anytime. It is a thoroughly unpleasant place, and as such is quite off limits." He paused, and gestured to the faculty.

            "This year, as we often do, we have several new professors at Hogwarts. First, allow me to introduce Professor Rupert Giles, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Giles is a former Watcher, the definition of which some of you older students may recall from your Magical Creatures classes." Giles stood, earning a small smattering of applause. "He will be assisted by Miss Willow Rosenberg, who will also carry the title of Professor. Miss Rosenberg has worked with Mr. Giles and his student for a number of years." Willow stood as well, to even greater applause, especially among the older students. "Though she is the youngest member of the staff, I assure you Miss Rosenberg is quite capable. Thank you both for coming." He looked at Spike, who stood as well. "Also joining us this year as an assistant to our own keeper of the keys, Rubeus Hagrid, will be William T. Blood. He prefers the moniker, however, of Spike. Should you require assistance from Hagrid during the evenings, we ask that you direct your queries to Mr. Blood." Spike received no applause, only frightened silence, and sat back down with a smirk. Taking his scare thrills where he can, Willow figured.

            "Last, but certainly not least, is Mr. David Grey. Grey will serve this year as Deputy Head of Gryffindor house, and as a guest lecturer in Defense against the Dark Arts. He will also oversee certain aspects of Hogwarts security, and I would ask that you discuss with him anything that seems amiss on the Hogwarts campus." The last sentence was clearly directed at the Gryffindor table, though Willow could not see the specific target. "Now, for my final words…" Dumbledore paused in thought. "Hephalump, cantankerous, Xanth, utz. Thank you." He sat down amidst more raucous applause.

            As always at Hogwarts, the excellent food appeared on the plates in vast helpings. Willow watched the Gryffindor table intently; very little of the food reached any students' mouths. The Gryffindors were clearly distracted, while the others houses went about the business of eating and welcoming with great fervor. Looking at the headmaster, she saw the old wizard deep in conversation with a … little green man. Huh? The little green man had enormous eyes and a huge head; he wore a sweater far too large for him, allowing it to hang to his ankles, and a pair of mismatched socks in orange and fuschia. He was alternating between gesturing wildly and bowing his head in submission. Dumbledore seemed concerned. So engrossed in the display was Willow that she failed to notice Grey sneak up behind her and tap her on the shoulder. She turned with a startled 'eep' that made McGonagall and Giles smile.

            "His name is Dobby. House-elf. Works for Albus," Grey said tersely.

            "What is that on his head, a tea cozy?"

            "Yeah. Clothes are a big deal to house-elves." She looked to see if he was being sarcastic, but it didn't seem that way. "Harry's not here."

            "I sort of got that part. You're worried." He shrugged.

            "Dumbledore isn't. But Dobby is. He and Harry have been … allies in the past. I think the elf is going to go look for him. House-elves stomping around muggle territory is a bad thing," he concluded. "Dumbledore will send me with him. You in?"

            "Field trip?" she asked, hoping to hide her nervousness. Without magic, she wouldn't be very helpful. And for the time being she had promised herself to be strictly spell-free. She said as much to Grey.

            "No magic, Willow. I just … could use some company." She saw how much it pained him to say that. He covered it quickly. "Besides, you fought with the Slayer. You know non-magic fighting and how to sneak around."

            "A little bit," she admitted. "What the heck. Sign me up."

"We need to make a stop first. Meet me after dinner at the Gryffindor common room." He walked over to tell Dumbledore and Dobby about his plans.


	6. Sidekicks Unite

Willow lingered outside of the Gryffindor common room, attempting not to stare at the house-elf pacing in circles in front of her.

            "You are being a friend of Harry Potter, Miss Willow?" Dobby asked. He seemed intent on calling her Miss Willow, despite her insistence to the contrary.

            "Never met him, er, Dobby. But everybody says he's a nice guy."

            "Oh nice Harry Potter is. He be freeing Dobby from service. I'se never had as good a friend as Harry Potter. Every year Harry Potter gives Dobby new socks." He pointed to the garish pair on his feet.

            "Why doesn't he give you a matching pair?" Dobby looked at her strangely.

            "Harry Potter does, Miss Willow. Why would Dobby where them together?" Willow couldn't figure out how to respond to that. 

At that moment, Grey walked out of the common room with two students in tow, a red-haired boy with freckles and a brown-haired girl. The girl spoke first.

            "Hi Professor Rosenberg. I'm Hermione Granger." They shook hands. "This is Ron Weasley." Willow and Ron shook; she could tell the red-head was trying not to stare at her. Well, somebody finds me attractive still, she laughed to herself, thinking of Tara's abrupt departure. "We're Harry's friends. Mr. Grey said you guys are going to try and find him?"

            "I told you, Hermione. It's just Grey. No mister." She looked at him, slightly annoyed, as if to say 'You're a teacher. You get respect whether you want it or not." Willow almost chuckled.

            "We're going to try," Willow told Hermione. "And if we aren't in class, call me Willow. I'm not old enough to be Professor Rosenberg." Hermione nodded. "Do you guys know where he might be?"

            "He owled me two days ago, said he would meet me at the train," Ron said, clearly distraught. "We waited until the last possible second…"

            "Which was so dangerous!" Hermione cut in. "As if he couldn't find us on the train. Then I had levitate you, breaking the no-magic rule…"

            "Look, 'Mione, I could've made the ruddy jump…"

            "Not without your stupid broom…"

            "Still didn't need your help…"

            "Enough." Grey's voice came out whisper-quiet, sending shivers up three spines. Dobby merely looked on, eyes wide. "Dobby, take a walk for a minute."

            "Sir?" The elf didn't understand.

            "I need to speak with them in private. You need to not hear." Willow shot him a look, but Dobby got the message and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

            "That was way rude, Grey." 

            "Look, Willow, Dobby means well, but …" he looked to Ron and Hermione for help.

            "He gets us in worse trouble than we would've anyway," Ron said. "He got Harry's arm broken in a Quidditch match one time, and we had to steal a car to get to school another time." Willow didn't know quite how to respond to that. Knowing what Quidditch was wouldn't have made it better, either. For some reason, though, she wasn't bothered too much. Ron kind of reminded her of Xander.

            "He means well," Hermione said. "He just overreacts because he loves Harry, who got him released from slavery."

            "Slavery?"

            "Don't ask her," Ron said. "We don't have time for a lecture on the rights of house elves." Hermione glared daggers at him, but said nothing.

            "Can we get to the point now?" Grey asked. Everyone leaned in expectantly. "You two know I'm the Deputy Head of Gryffindor. You heard what Dumbledore said about security, right?" Ron and Hermione nodded. "I'm here to keep an eye on you and Harry." Their eyes went wide. "Not to keep you out of trouble, since I think Dumbledore finds your assistance very helpful. I won't stop your midnight wanderings and I won't confiscate your invisibility cloak. I don't take away points and I don't hand out detentions for being out and about after hours. Are we clear on that?" They nodded again, taken aback by his directness. Hermione couldn't believe a teacher would have such a blatant disregard for the rules. The glint in his eye and even tone of his voice frightened them as he continued. "But I must insist on a few things. I'm in the club now, with the three of you. This isn't negotiable. If strange stuff starts to happen, WE will investigate it. If you have to prowl the castle looking for clues, WE will look for them. If Malfoy starts trouble with you, WE will kick his ass." The last line brought a smile to Ron's face and a frown to Hermione's. "Don't frown. I'm not a teacher. I'm a guard. Big difference."

            "Didn't think you could say that many words in a row, Mister silent-and-grumpy," Willow said, smiling at Grey's effort to befriend the kids.

            "Yeah, well, just remember them all when they get in trouble and you need to get Giles to bail them out." She gave him a horrified, I'm-not-involved look. "You think I let you hear that because you're not in on the need to know? Besides, the things you don't know about me would fill up a pretty large book."

            "But I can't…"

            "What, break rules? You're telling me the Slayer never broke school rules?"

            "No, it's just … hmmph." She said, hands on her hips. She hated channeling her inner geek, but there it was.

            "Don't worry about it, Professor," Hermione said. "No one can stop it anyway. Believe me, I've tried. It's better to just hope you don't get in trouble with someone like Snape then to try and stop Harry and Ron. What?" Ron was looking over her shoulder in fear. Hermione turned slowly, coming face-to-chest with the black-robed potions master himself. He spoke before Willow or Grey could intervene.

            "Miss Granger," he snarled. "What exactly do you mean when you say 'someone like Snape'? I'll remind you that if you lie to me, I will be forced to use a truth potion of a most unpleasant variety."

            "I-I-I … b-b-ah …" Hermione stuttered, mortified.

            "What was that?" His glare threatened to melt her in place.

            "You leave her alone, buster!" Willow shouted at him. She stepped between them and gave Snape a look of utter loathing. "We were having a private discussion that is absolutely without a doubt none of your business, but here you are threatening a student just like they said you do. How could you, you stupid, ignorant …" Her rant halted as Snape's face flushed crimson.

            "How dare you speak to me in front of the students that way," he hissed. "I'll have your job for this."

            "I think not." Grey had remained apart from the discussion, gauging Snape for himself. He knew all about the rumors; in thirty seconds, he saw they were all true. Snape gave him an evil look filled with anger, which Grey met with stony impassivity.

            "It doesn't much matter what you think, knuckle-dragger. You're a bodyguard. I am a full professor here and in this school…"

            "We won't always be in this school, will we Severus?" Grey eased into Snape's personal space. He was several inches shorter than the darker man, but somehow seemed more menacing. "You're a bully, but not a coward. According to Dumbledore, you're useful. Fine. I don't give a shit." Hermione gasped at the swear. "I'm here to keep these kids safe. From everything. Give them trouble, and we'll see how much of a 'knuckle-dragger' I really am. And Willow? Not my job to keep her safe." He leaned even closer to Snape's face. Ron idly wondered if Snape's hook nose might poke Grey's eye out. He was loving this. When Grey spoke, his voice dragged over the stone hall like a knife. 

"You do anything to make her uncomfortable and they'll have to call out the hounds to find your pieces." 

Snape stepped back, unable to respond. No one had ever emasculated his authority that way before, let alone threatened to chop him into bloody bits. He spun and walked off without another word.

            The group stood quietly for a minute or two.

            "Wow," Willow said. She couldn't believe Grey had done that.

            "That was so great! I wish Harry had seen it! He would've…" Ron trailed off. "We still have to find Harry."

            "I know," Grey said. "If anyone knows where he might be, it would be you two. Any ideas?"


	7. Jailbreak

            Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, three-time victor over Lord Voldemort, and co-champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament (a dubious honor of which he never spoke), was that same evening nearly wishing he had died and never won anything at all. He hated this dungeon. After only two days, he was certain it would drive him mad. The room was bare, containing only a cot, an old, empty desk, and a wooden chair. There had once been a window, but his captors had removed the frame and shingled over it. The door remained locked from the outside; a small opening had been cut, through which his captors fed him. When he was removed twice a day to use the loo, he noticed that an entire hallway had been blocked with debris just to prevent his escape.

            He thought of all the people who might rescue him. The Weasleys. Ron and Hermione. His godfather Sirius. Remus Lupin. Albus Dumbledore. None of them had come yet. He almost expected none of them would. The enemy had planned it beautifully, locking him in right before he was supposed to leave. He would never be found. In despair, he sank down on his bed and closed his eyes.

            Two blocks away, Grey, Spike and Willow stood on a corner with Ron, Dobby and Hermione, watching the house through binoculars.

            "They shingled over the bloody window!" Ron said, amazed.

            "Where?" Ron pointed out the spot to Grey where he had pulled Harry into the car. "Probably means he's in there."

            "What do you think we should do?" Willow asked Grey nervously. She couldn't believe anyone would hold their nephew captive in their own house. It seemed inhuman. Of course, this was coming from a girl whose mother tried to burn her at the stake, she realized with some dismay.

            "Spike?" For the first time, Willow saw a grin cross Grey's face. But it was an evil grin, almost a sneer. Terrifying. The vampire picked up the plan without another word.

            "Oh yeah, it would be bloody brilliant, mate. But I can't go in without an invite."

            "Who said you have to go in? We just need someone to pass out in the doorway."

            "I think I can handle that."

            "Ron, Hermione, you guys have to find Harry and get him out of there relatively quickly."

            "Dobby can help with that, sir," the elf said. "I'se been here before, helping Harry Potter." Grey looked at him skeptically, then at Hermione.

            "Take Dobby in with you. He could be helpful, especially if Harry's idiot cousin makes a fuss. But Hermione?"

            "Yes?"

            "Don't let him out of your sight for a minute. And absolutely no magic." They nodded. "Willow, watch the street for cops."

            "Yes, sir, general sir," she teased. He gave her an impassive look. "Like you don't want to smile."

            "I am smiling," he said, causing her and the kids to giggle. "This shouldn't be too hard." He took off across the street without another word. 

Motioning the kids and Dobby off to the side, he and Spike went to the door together. Grey knocked loudly several times, then heard shuffling inside. The door opened, revealing an enormous man. Grey stifled a laugh; it was like seeing the Caddyshack gofer made human.

            "What the devil could you possibly want at this hour?" The voice was loud and irritable, accustomed to getting its way.

            "Vernon Dursley?" Grey asked.

            "Yes. What of it?" Spike stepped up and brought out his game face, growling loud and long. Dursley's eyes went wide and he gasped, falling to the floor in a heap. Grey stepped past the fallen oaf and into the foyer. Ron, Hermione and Dobby flew past him and up the stairs.

            "Grey!" Hermione's excited voice shouted. As he moved to the stairs, Petunia Dursley stepped from the kitched to speak with her husband. Seeing him lying on the floor and a strange man standing in the doorway, she screamed and ducked back into the kitchen.

            "Damn," Grey muttered under his breath. He raced to the second floor and saw the problem. What was presumably Harry's room was blocked by a basement full of household junk. Dobby's eyes were wide; the two Gryffindor's merely looked confused.

            "Maybe he's not here," Hermione said, confused.

            "Then why is there all this shit in the hall?" Ron asked.

            "Ronald Weasley, don't swear like that. What would your mother say?"

            "My mum? You know her. She'd be swearing up a storm about these people keeping Harry here." Hermione gave him a look of total exasperation.

            "Hey! Enough," Grey said.

            "How about magic? I bet Dobby could clear this stuff…" Hermione said.

            "No," Grey replied. "Dumbledore said no magic if Harry was here."

            "Is he?"

            Inside the room, Harry heard the loud voices and commotion. When he heard Hermione shout about the swearing, he knew who it was. He began to bang on the door and scream.

            "Get me the hell out of here!" The four rescuers turned at the sound. Dobby began to wave his hands. Ron moved to stop him, but he succeeded only in fouling his incantation. They heard a slight fizz, then a loud pop.

            The crash thundered out of the house and onto the street. Lights began to come on. Willow and Spike continued to look around nervously for thirty seconds before the redhead finally decided to go look. Stepping inside, she almost screamed.

            Dobby had succeeded in removing most of the floor, dropping the four of them and all of the junk into the hallway below. Petunia Dursley, her face white, stood in the kitchen doorway holding a carving knife. Grey was shaking off the effects of the fall. Ron and Hermione were tangled together and groaning in pain. Dobby lay on the floor, unconscious. Upstairs, Harry continued to bang on the door.

            Vernon Dursley rose slowly to his feet.

            "What … Have …You … Done!?!" His shriek pierced the night.

            "We came for Harry," Grey said quietly, brushing dust from his blue sweatshirt. "You locked him up like an animal. We were attempting to unlock him. I think the appropriate question is, what have you done?"

            "I did what was best to protect myself from that little freak. He will not leave this house or return to that … that school ever again." Grey thought about threatening him, as he had Snape, but decided he was too angry. Instead, he snapped a kick at Vernon's chest. The fat man flew into the wall; unfazed, he came running back to grab Grey. Figuring a head butt would work nicely, Grey let himself be embraced.

            "Separate." Dursley and Grey flew to opposite ends of the room, thudding against the wall. "Disarm." The knife in Petunia's hand slammed into the floor beside her. "Reverse." The floor returned to the upstairs hall.

            Rubbing his head from the blow, Grey looked up at the doorway. Willow floated two feet off the ground, her red hair fanning out above and around her. The night crackled with electricity. Her eyes had gone jet black. Deep in his stomach, Grey felt the fear rise.

            "Harry leaves now," she said, her voice two octaves lower than normal. "Gather his things," she said to a frightened Ron and Hermione, who went back up the stairs. With a gesture from Willow, Dobby floated out into Spike's arms and Dursley drifted up from the wall to a standing position in front of her. "You should die for this."

            "Willow, no…" Grey said, his voice cracking at the memories.

            "Red, don't do it," Spike said from the doorway.

            "I could also make you hurt for an eternity," she continued heedlessly. "Would that be better?" Dursley, realizing it was true, began to blubber and cry. "I guess not. From now on, Harry does what he wants, when he wants." Dursley nodded. "Say it."

            "Y-yes."

            "The whole thing."

            "H-harry does w-w-what he w-wants, when he w-wants."

            "Good." She let him drop like a sack of potatoes and floated out the door. Harry stood with Ron and Hermione, watching from the top of the stairs.

            "Who was that?"


	8. Secrets Revealed

            The conference lasted for hours.

            Willow shook and cried in Grey's arms the entire ride back. She had been helped from Dumbledore's enchanted coach and put to bed in her room. Spike and Hermione were watching over her while Ron helped Harry get his things unpacked.

            Grey, Giles, Dumbledore, Snape, and Professor McGonagall were trying to decide what to do about Willow. So far, they had only managed to grow greatly frazzled. Even Dumbledore seemed weary of the lengthy debate.

            "The girl is a menace. She must leave at once," Snape said for the hundredth time. "If not, then I will…"

            "You'll do nothing, you bloody pillock!" Giles roared, his control finally snapping. "She is a frightened girl with an enormous amount of power. She needs help. I will not allow you to impede that in any way." Grey merely glared at him. Cowed for the moment, Snape said nothing further.

            "Rupert," McGonagall said, "we know you care deeply for the girl. But the reality is a bit more dangerous than we had originally thought. For us to train her would be very difficult indeed."

            "So you abandon her?" Grey said, shocking them with his emotion. He had said barely a word since recounting the events of the evening. Now his face contorted with rage. "Let me explain something to you all. That is the stupidest fucking thing you could possibly do. You throw her out of here and two months later she'll back as Voldemort's top field commander. Or she'll be dead. The last thing someone with that kind of channel to dark magic should be is alone. You can't fight that alone. I've seen it." He turned away, his eyes filled with tears. When he continued, his voice shook. "He'll help her contain it, except it won't be contained. It will dominate her. And she'll hate us for leaving her alone. Then she'll try and kill us. And God help me, I won't go through that."

            "No one is abandoning anyone, Mr. Grey," Dumbledore said in his soothing way. "You are, I gather, referring to Miss O'Brien?"

            "Yes." He left the room without another word. The others stared at Dumbledore.

            "Dave has had … some unfortunate experiences in the past year. It is not my place to explain them to you." He looked at McGonagall, who nodded her agreement. Grey's outburst had been the final piece of the puzzle for both of them. "I have no intention of dismissing Miss Rosenberg. However, given the circumstances, I am loathe to allow her to practice her magic wand-less and unsupervised. We will reconvene here in the morning, at which time I will listen to suggestions for her training," he turned to Snape, "that do not include her leaving. Further, I will not tolerate harrassment of any kind. Is that clear?" Snape nodded, and the meeting broke up.

            Spike heard the soft knock at the door. It was Grey.

            "So they've made a decision, then?" He asked, concerned.

            "No. Not yet. I just had to leave before … I just had to leave. How is she?"

            "Seen her better, mate. Also seen her worse, though. She's a tough bird, this one. Just sittin' there now, staring out the window."

            "Hermione still with her?"

            "No, she left about an hour ago. Didn't want to, but she still has school in the morning, so I made her."

            "Is it a problem if I talk to her?"

            "Shouldn't be. You want me to stay or go?"

            "I thought vampires didn't care for humans?" Spike barked a quiet laugh.

            "They don't. I'm special. What can I say?"

            "Why don't you let me be alone with her for a bit? Stick around though, in case they finish and come with news.

            "Right then." The blonde vampire eased his way outside. Grey walked across the room to Willow. She looked fourteen, wearing fuzzy pink pajamas with her hair in a ponytail. She was staring at the cloudless sky.

            "Thinking anything special?" He said, taking a seat next to her on the bed.

            "I wish Xander were here. He'd do something stupid to take my mind off of things, and for maybe thirty seconds this feeling would be gone."

            "What feeling is that?" His voice was soft now, tender. He thought it would be hard to unearth that part of himself, but it came surprisingly easily. Must be Willow, he thought. She seems to have that effect on me.

            "When I was eighteen, I got caught … making out with another guy other than my boyfriend. Not too smart, of course, since, hello, dating a werewolf with rage issues. Afterwards, I would see him, and I felt so dirty. Like I needed to take a shower on the inside. That's how I feel now. Dirty." She still hadn't looked at him. He knew it would be that kind of night. Sharing painful secrets.

            "Well, I'm not much for doing stupid stuff, and I definitely am not about offering showers on the inside, so I guess I can't be a Xander substitute."

            "Was that a joke?" She asked, now sliding around to look him in the eye. He gave her a small smile, the first real one she had ever seen from him. It changed his face completely.

            "A mild and not terribly good one, yeah."

            "I didn't know you could." His eyes grew distant, but he responded immediately.

            "Back … in the day, I joked a lot, actually."

            "Back in the day?" Their eyes met, both full of pain and sadness.

            "Willow, I …used to be a lot different. I have a story that I think you need to hear. You won't like it. It will scare you. I don't want to tell it. But I think I have to."

            "I'll listen," she said solemnly. "But I don't want to make you tell it if you don't want to."

            "No, I need to. Maybe for both of us." The last sentence came out under his breath. "I used to be an auror."

            "Oh wow," she said. Giles had explained about aurors. "But you don't do magic? Do you?"

            "No. I don't. I can fight, though. And I understand magic; my parents are powerful wizards and aurors, both of them."

            "You're a squib." She said it without thinking. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…" He cut her off.

            "No, it's okay. I am a squib. Doesn't bother me. Never did. Because of their jobs, I mostly lived with my muggle aunt in Boston; it limited my exposure to magic in everyday life. Not the point here, though." He was leaving a lot out, she realized as she gestured for him to continue. "When I was eighteen, training to be an auror, I met this amazing girl. She had graduated from Hogwarts and moved on to the normal training, unlike me. They have a huge need for investigators as well as enforcers in the auror ranks, which got me in." His vision blurred with tears as he remembered.

            "What was her name?" Willow asked.

            "Jess O'Brien." He paused, gathering himself. "She had power, like you. Nearly unlimited, when she wanted it to be. She loved … making a splash. The big fight, the speedy takedown, the brilliant quip. All about the glamour and show, I guess."

            "Your partner?"

            "Yeah. We were in love, going to be married. It was natural. And we were good together. I'd find them, she'd light them up. We took down a bunch of Death Eaters that messed up the Quidditch World Cup. Went after Voldemort himself a few months later. In his weakened state, he should have been easy prey." Willow was watching him, fascinated by the story. He suddenly put a hand on her shoulder, leaning in and speaking incredibly harshly. "The man is poison, even without power. Never forget that. He'll talk circles around you until up is down and left is right." Realizing his position, he removed the hand and backed away. "Sorry."

            "I understand. Not a problem. What did he do to her?" She pulled her legs onto the bed and folded her arms around them.

            "He goaded her. I tried to talk her out of it, but it didn't work. He kept talking to her, getting her to toss increasingly nasty spells at him. He must have felt her connection to the power. Her eyes went black, just like yours did. I had never seen that before. The spells and curses would hit him and vanish. He kept laughing and laughing. It was a nightmare. Finally, she collapsed from exhaustion. With the spells dissipated, I charged at him and kicked him in the head." The empty air didn't stop my foot at all, he remembered. Just made me fall flat on my ass.

            "It was a decoy. Like a magic hologram. He was talking from somewhere else. In her haste, she hadn't noticed."

            "What happened to her then?" When he had mentioned her eyes, Willow's breath had caught in her throat.

            "I brought her to the Ministry. They got scared. That idiot Fudge had her quietly removed from service. They left her out to dry. I resigned on the spot, nearly punched the fat bastard's head in." He shook his head. "Political hack. Anyway, we went to our place in London to lay low. Jess was despondent for a month. Wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't do anything. And at night, she would have these dreams. She would murmur and mutter incoherently, and shake like a leaf all night. In the morning, she would claim not to remember any of them. Last spring, Voldemort came back to power." Willow nodded. She knew. "Jess left the same night. Told me she had a destiny. That a fool squib like me was holding her back." He was crying silently now, the tears finally coming after months of restraint. They rolled down his cheeks and pooled on his chin, rivers of pain overwhelming him. Willow put a hand softly on his shoulder. "Her eyes were entirely black. She snapped her wand in half. I told her she had to stop, that we had to get her help. She laughed, called me a fool again. We fought. Without magic, I was screwed. She liked to play around a bit, you know? Part of the show. Left me for dead when the fun was over." He lifted up his shirt, revealing a web of pink scars. Willow gasped, blood draining from her pale face. "I haven't seen her since."

            "Dave … I am so sorry." She was crying now, too, thinking about the horrors she had made him relive.   

            "I know you are, and I appreciate it. But I told you this for a reason. Dark magic is dangerous. I'm not saying don't use it. I'm no fool. I know what we're up against; at some point you'll have no choice. But don't abandon yourself to it. Whatever you have to do, whatever you have to learn to keep yourself in control, do it. Don't forget my story, because Jess never understood that. Now she's gone." Willow put his arms around him, and he put his around her. They held each other, crying until dawn.


	9. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher

Giles left word with Spike that a decision would be forthcoming in the morning. He had no desire to interrupt Grey and Willow, now that he knew she would be staying. Plenty of time for that later. He made his way back to his suite and scribbled out a lengthy letter for the morning post. With that finished, he sat with a cup of tea and stared at the fireplace.

            Using a wand would help Willow adjust, he knew. It would slow her down, force her to learn control and start with the basics. But with Willow's power and aptitude, that would last only so long. Dumbledore and the rest could show her some focusing techniques to push it a bit further. But the truth was plain: she had come too far, too fast. By nature, she had always been an emotional girl, ready to help or defend her friends with little provocation. Dark magic twisted that tendency, used it against the wielder. It clouded her judgment; provocation no longer became a necessary precursor. Eventually, she would just lash out at everything around her.

            After a lengthy brood, Giles let out a deep sigh. He was stalling. Lifting the cellular phone from an end table, he dialed the number from memory.

            "Hello?" The familiar teenaged voice soothed his nerves a tiny bit.

            "Hello, Dawn. Could I speak with your sister, please?"

            "Hey, Giles! How's England? How's Willow?"

            "Everything is quite fine, Dawn," he lied smoothly. "How is Sunnydale?"

            "The usual. Monsters, mojo, schoolwork. Let me get Buffy. She's dying to hear from you guys. Oh, and say hi to Spike for me, will you? It's boring with him gone."

            "I will indeed. Thanks." He heard some bustling in the background, and a series of footsteps.

            "Giles?"

            "Buffy. How are you?"

            "We're okay. Took down the last of the Nerd Patrol finally. That guy Warren is seriously annoying. What's up with you?"

            "I'm glad to hear that everything is okay there. We've had something come up here, and truthfully, I'm sort of at a loss as to how to deal with it."

            "You? King of Answers?"

            "Yes, me. It involves some rather tricky questions regarding Willow…" He explained about Harry's rescue, her outburst, and his proposed solution. 

"I don't know, Giles," Buffy responded skeptically. "Maybe. It would be hard, though, to get her to go along. When Willow started using it all the time here, she just went berserk. It caused serious problems. You know about Dawn's arm and everything." Buffy sighed. "What do you want from me?""

"Well, you've been there for more than a year after I left, Buffy. I was hoping you could shed some light on whether it's likely to work for everyone involved."

"It could. I can probably help push it a little bit. So could Dawn. If you want?"

"I do, Buffy. The sooner the better, if you can. I can establish everything on this end."

"Should Xander and I come visit you? I don't know how we could afford it, but we could try."

"Actually, I don't think you should right away. Eventually, yes, and when the time comes I can arrange something less costly than air travel. For now, though, I think it would be best to correspond through the mail." He had explained about owl post in a previous letter.

"I can do that. I should talk with her, though. Let her know we're still here for her. Xander would too, I'm sure."

"I think that would be great. It's rather late here, however. Perhaps I can have her call you tomorrow evening?"

"That would be awesome, Giles."

"I will do that, then. And Buffy, thank you for your help."

"It's Willow, Giles. Of course we'll help."

"I just hope everyone feels that way. Good night, then."

"'Night, Giles."


	10. Get with the Learning

            Ron and Hermione kept staring at him. It was probably the sappy grin on his face, Harry figured. He was just so happy to be out of his cell and … home. Even though he had to get up early for breakfast and spend the day in class, he couldn't contain his happiness.

            "Thanks again for coming to my rescue, guys," he said around a mouthful of bacon.

            "We couldn't just leave you there, Harry. Besides, Grey and Willow asked us to go." Ron had already filled Harry in on the events of the previous night.

            "What do you think happened to Willow in there?" Harry asked.

            "I don't know," Hermione said, "but I'm going to look for it in the library after classes. I think the eyes and the rage are a side effect of dark magic."

            "How could she be into dark magic? She's so nice and …" Ron stopped himself before he went any further. Harry and Hermione raised their eyebrows.

            "And what?" Hermione asked.

            "Nothing," Ron said, his face beet-red. The other two laughed.

            "Besides, anyone can use dark magic," Hermione lectured. "She must be powerful, though, to do those spells without a wand. Maybe that has something to do with it."

            "I thought she'd kill your uncle, Harry, that fat slob," Ron said.

            "I sort of did to. It was kind of scary. I mean, Dursley is a nasty git, but I didn't want him dead," Harry admitted. They nodded their agreement. "Still, I hope Willow is okay. She seemed really upset on the ride home."

            "We have Dark Arts first, with the Slytherins," Hermione spat. "We can see if she's alright and check out the new professor at the same time." 

            Grey walked in to Giles' Dark Arts class ten minutes before the first student; the Watcher had asked him at breakfast to stop by. He saw Willow making last minute notes on a piece of paper and nodded his greeting. She smiled and went back to work. Giles saw him and led him out of her earshot.

            "I wanted to thank you for helping Willow yesterday," the older man said. "I fear she will need a great deal more help in the coming months."

            "We all will," Grey said cryptically. The night of sharing had left him drained. It would be awhile before he let himself slip into talkative mode again. Still, he knew that he had helped. That was something. "My pleasure."

            "Would you care to sit in on my class? I understand from the headmaster that you were once an auror." Grey nodded. "Good. Not that you seem much for it, but if you have something to add, please feel free." He followed Giles back inside and took a seat in the rear of the room.

            Students from Gryffindor and Slytherin began filing in, anxious to meet their fifth Dark Arts teacher. The previous classes had always been interesting, if nothing else. One student walked in, heavyset and looking nervous, and Grey recognized him instantly. He felt a twinge of sadness for Neville Longbottom and made a mental note to speak with him soon.

            His three charges walked in at the tail end of the crush, Ron still eating the last scraps of breakfast. They walked directly over to Willow and began to speak in low tones.

            "Are you alright this morning, Professor?" Hermione asked.

            "Yeah, I feel better. A little tired, though. Hermione," Willow said seriously, "thanks for sitting with me last night after … everything. It meant a lot, especially when you don't know me at all."

            "Well, you helped us with Harry and told off Snape. That pretty much guarantees you good marks from us," Ron said before she could answer. 

            "You have no idea how glad I am that you made Snape back off," Hermione added, sick of having Ron speak in her place. "I would have been in detention forever. I'm just glad I got to repay the favor." As she finished, Willow and Harry locked eyes.

            "About last night … a-and your uncle … Harry, I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say, and idly wondered if crying to begin class was acceptable.

            "It's okay, Professor … Willow," Harry said, shifting into a more personal tone. "Ron told me how you and Grey are going to help us out this year. Magic can get kind of crazy sometimes. It can really mess with your head. We'll just have to help you out in return is all, like Hermione did." He looked up and saw Giles about to begin class. "We should sit. But really … don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it." He smiled as the three of them shuffled to their seats.

            Wow, Willow thought. What an amazing kid. Not only does he forgive me threatening to kill whatever family he has left, but he offers to help me? Astounded, she mentally noted that she needed to spend more time with those three, and soon. She felt that they could be valuable friends. Her reverie ended, she focused her attention on Giles, who had waved for silence and was beginning his opening speech.

            "My name is Rupert Giles. As you all know from your schedules, I am here to teach you to defend yourself against the Dark Arts. Now, from what I can gather, you have spent a good deal of time learning about the various practices of the Dark Arts. That is to say, curses a so-called dark wizard can employ against you. Also, it seems, you have learned to identify and defeat a number of monsters whose presence, I daresay, would be hazardous to your health."

            He had the class eating out of his hand as he walked among the rows, looking students in the eye. Hermione noticed that even Draco Malfoy was watching intently, not bothering with his normal snide remarks.

            "My class, unfortunately, is not about this. It is not about monsters, nor is it about curses, though you will learn a great deal about both. My class is about evil."   Someone gasped in the back of the room. No one else made a sound. "What is it? How do you know it? How can you stop it? And most importantly, how do you avoid becoming it?"

            "Do you know how many times I have been within minutes of the world ending?" No one responded. "You will. Do you know why those various people wanted to end the world?" No one responded. "You will."

            "I'm sorry if this frightens you. The world can, at times, be a frightening place. To cease being frightened, you must understand evil and learn to best it. In the end, that is why you have this class. To make the world a little more frightened of you."

            In the back, Grey almost let out a low whistle.


	11. Show me what you got

[Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviewers so far. Keep them coming. It's like caffeine – it keeps me going. Glad you all are having fun with this; I certainly am. -40]

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            "Hey Buffy. How are you and the gang?" Willow asked, relieved to hear a friendly voice.

            "I'm good. We're good. It's a goodness-fest here in Sunnydale. That sounded weird. Anyway, I think the question is, how are you?"

            "Truthfully? Not so good. I was doing okay with the spell-free zone, then I got angry and boom. Crazy-eyed Willow and her roving carnival of dangerous magic tricks." She sighed. "I almost hurt someone really badly."

            "But you didn't, right? Big difference there Will."

            "I wanted to, though. It was weird. Different then the other times. With Tara and the memory spell and then the thing with Dawn … I was so out of control. I never stopped to think about good or bad. I just did, because I wanted to."

            "This wasn't like that?"

            "No. I was angry. Giles told you about it, right?"

            "Yeah, last night."

            "Well, then you know. They had this kid locked up, and his friends were so nice. I just wanted to help. All of a sudden, it was like something inside me said, 'go for it, it's the right thing' and all hell broke loose. I didn't have time to even think about it."

            "But you did once it got going, right?

            "Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I didn't kill anyone. Yeah me."

            "You and Giles can figure it out. I have faith."

            "At least someone does."

            "So what's it like there?" Buffy asked, sensing her friend needed a subject change.

            "Real old world, you know? Torches and dark hallways and wizards in robes. Even Giles."

            "Sounds like Disney World." Willow laughed, knowing her friend's love for the conveniences of modern life.

            "It's pretty good. They use magic for all kinds of household stuff."

            "Making new friends?" the Slayer asked.

            "Yes, mom. I'm trying not to get in with the wrong crowd." They laughed together.

            "Any special friends?" Willow could envision Buffy's waggling eyebrows.

            "No. Not so much in the romance mood, Buffy."

            "No one? At all?"

            "Well, I met this one guy, but it's not like that at all. Totally a friends thing."

            "Umm … Willow? A guy? I thought … you know?"

            "I told you, it isn't like that."

            "Do you want it to be?"

            Grey finished the last kata in the series with a flourish. The vampire seemed unimpressed.

            "So you've been on this roof for twenty minutes. Why?"

            "You could tell, could you? Thought I was silent," Spike said, stubbing out his cigarette.

            "You smell like Joe Camel," Grey explained matter-of-factly. Spike sniffed the sleeve of his duster and shrugged.

            "Guess so. Perils of a filthy habit." Grey waited, figuring the vampire would continue. "Thought you might be up for a bit of sparring, is all."

            "I could go for that. Long week."

            "An' it's only Monday," the vampire said. He slipped out of his duster, dropping it on the rooftop. He wore a black t-shirt and black jeans, starkly setting his skin off from the night. "Used to it, though."

            "No biting," Grey said. He was dressed to fight: navy blue adidas warm-ups, a blue Mets t-shirt, and sneakers.

            "Aw. Takes the fun out, that does." They faced each other, each balanced on the balls of his feet. Waiting. Like predators.

            Spike blinked first. He was fairly sure the other man would have stood there all night. He moved with blinding quickness, closing on Grey with a series of undiscplined, looping punches. Backed by vampire strength and speed, it had been enough to take down two slayers.

            Grey had beaten vampires before. He spun into Spike, avoiding the vampire's long reach and angling for a shot at his chin.

            They each took a hit in the initial foray, Spike in the ribs and Grey on the cheek. Neither relented. Snapping off fists and elbows, blocking when it was possible and absorbing when it wasn't, they whirled across the rooftop in an intricate dance. By the time they separated and squared off again five minutes later, each sported a cut on the face. Grey wiped the blood out of his eyes and looked at the vampire with new respect.

            "Guess I know how you made it a hundred years," he said. Spike shrugged and charged, leading with his right. Grey instinctively threw a forearm in the way of the fist, then drove two quick jabs into Spike's jaw. The vampire dropped to the ground, looking to kick out Grey's legs, but the former auror jumped over him with astonishing speed and landed a back kick to his head.           Spike rolled away and came up panting needless breaths.

            "Are you sure you're human?" Spike asked, genuinely surprised by Grey's skill. He was nearly a match for Buffy or the King Poof.

            Grey smiled, the same evil grin from Privet Drive, and suddenly attacked. The kicks flew fast and furious from all angles, and Spike had to retreat further across the roof with each blow. Finally, in danger of being pushed off the roof, he leaped and flipped over the auror's head. As he landed, he spun and delivered a wicked kick to Grey's back, knocking him over.

            Bloody and breathing hard, they looked at each other.

            "Pretty evenly matched," Grey said.

            "Damn straight," Spike agreed, sensing an end to the battle. He lit a cigarette and savored the first drag. "Should be interesting when the big nasties show up. Whenever that might be."


	12. Return of the Scoobies

            Hermione spent Friday afternoon in the library, as she had every afternoon that week. She had uncovered a few tidbits related to the mystery of Willow's addiction, but not enough for a complete picture. Citing homework, Ron and Harry had managed to avoid helping her until now. The three of them sat in the empty room, leafing through stacks of musty tomes.

            "You know, 'Mione, other people see Friday as the day school work ends," Ron complained.

            "I thought you really wanted to help out Willow," Hermione retorted with an edge in her voice. Harry had noticed two things over the course of the week: Ron was definitely developing a crush on Willow, and Hermione was definitely bothered by it.

            "Well, I-I do," Ron stammered defensively, his ears glowing red. "It's just, you haven't gotten anywhere all week. We're so far down your list of research possibilities that we aren't even reading about dark magic." His current book was _Who's Who: Evil Wizards and Witches of the Twelfth Century_. Hermione was having them list the similar characteristics of the evil wizards, in hopes of finding something in common. Harry had just started on the thirteenth century.

            "Maybe we should talk to Professor Giles," Harry offered. "He either knows the answer or is looking for it too."

            "Why would he want our help, Harry? We're only students," Ron said.

            "Actually, Mr. Weasley, you might be surprised at the high value I place on help from students," Giles said from the doorway. He had been on his way to research Willow's addiction himself. "What exactly have you been looking for?" The boys looked at Hermione as Giles sat down beside them.

            "Well, we were hoping we could find out something about Willow and what happened at Harry's house the other night. Possibly something different about dark magic that causes it to become addictive," Hermione answered. She explained the course of her research and how they had come to her current project. "I think I would be able to find more answers in the Restricted Section, but …"

            "You weren't sure if it was your place to do so, and that requires permission," Giles finished for her. She nodded. "This is quite thoughtful of you all, to take this on yourselves when you barely know Willow," he said, impressed. "If she knew, and for the moment I think it best that she does not, she would be most appreciative." All three beamed at that comment. "Truthfully, I could use the assistance. During my tenure as a Watcher I grew rather fond of having people aid me in my research."

            "Is that how you knew Willow?" Harry asked.

            "Yes, Harry, indeed it is. The very first night I knew Buffy Summers, Willow was very nearly killed by vampires. Needless to say, Buffy saved her and Xander Harris, who was Willow's best friend." He felt no need to mention the loss of her friend Jesse. Better, he figured, not to disturb them too greatly. "She and Xander helped me research the vampires behind the attack, and continued to work with us for the next six years. As they were sixteen at the time, I would hope that it would be obvious to you three that I value the help of people of any age." They nodded.

            "What should we do first?" Hermione asked.

            "Actually, you seem to have gotten quite a good start on your own. However, I believe I can answer your question about what makes dark magic addictive when other magic is not." Hermione looked downcast, thinking of the wasted effort of the past week, but Giles perked her back up. "Do not feel badly, Miss Granger. You were asking the correct question, which is the most difficult part of all research. I have simply been doing this my entire life. It gives one certain advantages."

            "Thank you, Professor." Ron and Harry looked at each other, thinking how some things never changed.

            "As for your question, the answer is complex. In part, the magic itself is simply different. Rather like chocolate and, say, broccoli. Both are food. One is bad for you, one is not, but you eat them both. Your body likes chocolate, it doesn't like broccoli as much, but broccoli is less bad for you. Does that make sense?" They nodded. "As with eating chocolate, too much dark magic can have bad side effects. Often, this manifests itself as severe personality changes, lust for power, massive mood swings and the like," he lectured. Hermione was taking notes, and Giles waited for her to catch up. "Also, with each use, the body craves more and more, forcing the wielder to draw on even greater power. Thus the cyclical nature of the addiction." Hermione scribbled furiously but managed to get it all down. Giles briefly flashed on Willow doing the same thing a long time before.

"The other part has to do with intent. We're all agreed that, keeping in mind the limits of this metaphor, you can eat as much broccoli as possible without too many side effects, yes?" They agreed, though Ron made a face at the thought of that much broccoli. "When people cast so-called light magics – defense and healing spells, certain types of divination – they are aiming to help people, and thus the detrimental effect of the magic is small and easily tempered, like broccoli. You can have as much as you want."

"With dark magic, as with chocolate, the usage must be greatly limited. However, it does not have to be entirely avoided, as long as the intent is to help, because the intent blunts the damage. Unfortunately, the nature of dark magic is to harm, so the intent must be even more clear."

"So Willow could use dark magic, if she doesn't use much, and then only to help people," Harry said, thinking it through. Giles nodded.

"One thing I don't get," Ron chimed in, "is how she can do magic without a wand."

"That has to do with how much power she has access to, right Professor?" Hermione said.

"That's one factor, yes. Another is where her talent lies – some types of magic are better suited for wands than others. Also, because of the region in which she lived, namely the Hellmouth, she had access to greater power initially than most people ever do." Giles had explained the Hellmouth to them in class. "Unfortunately, to use it without a wand she is forced to call on excess power, since it is so unfocused."

"Like shoving as much chocolate as you can into your mouth at once," Ron said, making them all laugh.

"Yes, quite. Professor Dumbledore hopes, and I agree to a point, that the use of a wand will allow her to regulate the flow of her power and use less for any given task. That, in turn, reduces the possibility of the power controlling her. That is where I was hoping to begin today. If you would be so kind, I think we should look for instances of evil wizards using wands and compare them to those who did not."

Ron looked at the _Who's Who_ and groaned.


	13. Does England have the mall?

            Willow stared at the fireplace, greatly disturbed.

            "Are you sure about this?"

            "Ron's family uses it all the time," Harry informed her, trying to sound less nervous than he felt. He had never quite grown accustomed to traveling via floo powder. Grey stood impassively next to Willow, waiting for her to make up her mind.

            "Couldn't we take the train?"

            "Too slow," Grey said with a head shake. "This is strictly quick necessity shopping and back."

            "Why can't you do this?" she asked him. He was going through by touching one of them as they did it.

            "No magic, remember?"

            "Right." She stepped into the fireplace, followed by Grey. She grabbed his hand for reassurance. Tossing down the powder, she shouted "Diagon Alley," and was gone.

            They emerged onto a bustling street full of shops. Willow was overwhelmed at the number of witches and wizards and the variety of robe colors and styles. Thus far she had only seen the Hogwarts black.

            "Whoa," she said in awe, her eyes wide. It seemed too much to drink in at once. Saturday seemed to be as big a wizard shopping day as it was for muggles. They heard an 'oof'; a few seconds later, Harry was beside them.

            "So, what's on the shopping list today?" Willow asked him cheerfully, recovering from her daze. She had persuaded Giles and then McGonagall, over Snape's loud protests, to let Harry come with her when she went to purchase a wand. He had not been able to buy school books or supplies, due to his incarceration, and had been borrowing from the library or the other Gryffindors. She had offered to take Ron and Hermione as well, but Giles had given her one of his looks and said that he would find other things for them to do. She figured a field trip would be nearly as good as baking cookies to alleviate her guilt. Grey had offered to come along as a security escort.

            "Flourish and Blotts for books and then further down the street for supplies. I'm all set for robes, and we need to get your wand at Ollivander's. It shouldn't take all that long," he concluded.

            "Bank first," Grey said.

            "Yah, boss," Willow said with a giggle. "Could you cut out some of those syllables? You've got way too many." He shot her an annoyed glance.

            Gringott's was like no place Willow had ever seen. Nothing on the Hellmouth had prepared her for the sight of goblins running a bank. Giles had given her access to his account, though she let Harry and Grey gather the money for her. She understood the conversion system, but had no idea what the relative prices of things were. She emerged carrying a decent bag full of gold in one hand and a bewildered expression plastered on her face.

            Harry and Grey were thoroughly amused as Willow poked around the books and supplies in the various stores. She laughed hysterically at an enormous jar of chicken feet, leaving them looking at one another in disbelief. When she tried to explain, all they got was "Anya … price … shop" through the laughter. They didn't press further.

            With Grey helping to carry the massive bundles, Harry finished his shopping in just under an hour. They decided to hit Ollivander's and then stop for an ice cream with Florean Fortescue, who hadn't seen Harry in ages and absolutely insisted on it. Walking into the wand shop and seeing the stacks of boxes, Willow blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

            "You know what Buffy would say right now?" Grey and Harry gave her raised eyebrows. "She'd say 'my god, Willow, who wears all these really narrow shoes?" All three of them burst into laughter. An elderly man with enormous silver eyes came to see about the ruckus.

            "Can I help … oh, yes Mr. Potter, how are you today?"

            "Well, thanks, Mr. Ollivander." The old man looked at Grey.

            "You must be the Grey boy. Shame I haven't seen you in here before. Spitting image of your father, you are." Grey offered his thanks, and the man looked Willow over. She suddenly felt like Grade A beef: inspected. "Miss Rosenberg, I presume?" She nodded, for some reason afraid to speak. "Professor Dumbledore owled me about you yesterday. I've been pulling wands for you all morning."

            "Umm… Thanks," she said, unsure how to respond.

            "Now, let me see…" He rummaged around in a stack on his chair, eventually pulling one from the bottom. "Try this. Oak, nine and three-eights inches with a piece of eagle feather." He handed her the wand and all hell broke loose.

            Globs of colored light flew all over the room, knocking over stacks of wands and scorching the walls. One stack fell on Ollivander, burying him in wand boxes. Some of the fallen boxes were hit a second time and caught fire. Grey grabbed Harry and dove out the door. Terrified, Willow hurled the wand from her hand; it shattered against the wall, ending the fireworks display. She saw the stack on the chair begin to fall and instinctively dove to catch it.

            When Ollivander disentangled himself, he beheld a stirring sight. Willow had a wand in each hand, around an armful of boxes, and hung two feet off the ground. Grey and Harry, looking through the doorway, gasped in horror.

            "Oh my," the proprietor said softly, looking at the witch's eyes. One had gone solid black; the other kept flickering from black to white and back. "Miss Rosenberg?" She looked down at him. His voice broke the trance and she crashed to the floor. Grey ran inside, hauling her up to a standing position. For a brief, irrelevant second she basked in the feel of his strong arms. When he let her go, she still clutched both wands and her eyes had returned to normal.

            "Are you alright?" he asked.

            "I-I think so," she said. "It was the oddest sensation. Not bad, but not good either. Just a kind of … buzzing."

            "Did it feel like the other night?" Harry asked.

            "No, not at all. I was totally in control. What happened?" She asked Mr. Ollivander.

            "Most curious," he said, staring at the wands. "It would appear those two are equally suited for you. Holding them both must have canceled the effect they were supposed to have."

            "Well, I can't have two wands," she said. He nodded.

            "That's correct. Might I ask that you hand them both to me?" She did so. "Now, let's try one at a time. This one first. Ebony, ten inches, with a piece of dragon scale in the center." 

            Willow took the wand and felt a surge of power. It felt extraordinary. When he reached for it, she had to fight the urge to grab it and run. The feeling dissipated as he took it, leaving her empty and frightened at the powerful connection the wand had with her.

            "Willow, eight inches, a bit flexible. Werewolf hair inside." When she took the second wand, she knew it was for her. The empty feeling of the previous wand vanished. Instead, she felt warm and safe, like she had wrapped herself in a warm blanket on a cold day.

            "This one," she said without hesitation.

            "I daresay that was the better choice, young lady. Ebony tends to have some … undesirable properties," Ollivander admitted. He hadn't said anything before, sensing that this choice was a deeply important one for her. "Shall I bag it for you?" Willow nodded, relieved. The grasping sensation of the first wand had been … not unpleasant, but very aggressive. She paid, and they walked back out into the sunlight.

            "I'm sorry I keep throwing monkey wrenches into your normal lives, guys," Willow said sheepishly, aware that they had been forced to duck and cover.

            "Willow," Harry answered, "if you had any idea how much weirdness creeps into my life every year …" He didn't even know how to finish the sentence, so settled for shaking his head. "I don't know about you guys," he finally added, "but I could really use some ice cream."


	14. Nightcrawling

            It had taken eight weeks, but this was the last of them. Finally.

            Spike had never been so bored in his entire life. After Dumbledore had privately asked him (with Giles' help) to stock Hogwarts with strategically hidden caches of weapons, it had taken a month find the right hiding spots. Then another month to lay out the proper sets of weapons, working the whole time at night and in darkness. And alone.

            Besides the rescue of that Potter kid and the sparring with Grey, which he managed to fit in twice a week for a month now, the vampire had no opportunity to blow off steam. He even found it hard to keep current with Willow's progress, though she seemed to be handling the magic without any unfortunate change in eye color. Grey had told him about the two wands, and he reckoned that she had made a good choice. Dark and heavy wood tended to promote dark and heavy magic.

            With the last stash in place, Spike settled down against a tree trunk at the edge of the Dark Forest and pulled out Dawn's latest letter. The owl had dropped it for him two nights back; he hoped the nibblet wasn't angry about the wait. He lit a cigarette and unfolded the notebook paper.

_Spike,_

_            So you still haven't told me what it is you're doing. Willow says she never sees you around. We're dying to know (not in the Sunnydale sense of the word, and actually, we is sort of I)._

_            You said this guy Grey 'can fight something fierce.' Sounds like somebody's outclassed. Just kidding. What's the deal with him and Willow? She mentions him in every letter. Buffy thinks she totally crushing. But she's gay, right? How can that happen?_

_            Life here is never dull, but it is a little slow. Xander still isn't dating (not that you care); Anya is a vengeance demon again, like I told you. We don't see her, really, though she's still hanging around. Last week she turned this lady's boyfriend into a giant worm and he ate the woman's dog. I felt bad, but Buffy seemed like she was going to laugh._

_            Buffy's okay, which is I know what you want to know. She isn't dating either. I think she does miss you and won't admit it. I, on the other hand, have an ice cream date with a super-hottie named Jon on Saturday. It's in the afternoon, so definitely no vamp-kissage this time. I promise I'll be good; maybe it'll work out and you can threaten him when you get home. Just kidding. You better not._

_            Anyways, I have to go. Bed, then school. Write back soon. __© Dawn_

            Spike laughed. Nothing like Sunnydale gossip to cheer him up. The picture of Chubs and the Slayer chasing a giant worm … bloody fantastic. He sighed, thinking how much he missed Dawn, and how glad he was that Giles had shown her the owlery in Sunnydale.

            "Some Big Bad," he muttered. "Missing the Slayer's kid sister." And the Slayer, he added silently. He and Buffy had unfinished business, but not the kind he would try and resolve at a distance. Next year, when he went back, they would have a talk. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and pulled out his notepad.

_Bit,_

_            Got your letter. Sorry for the delay. As for what I'm doing, I'm up to my duster in work, and I'm not much for socializing during the day. Dumbledore, the headmaster, has me stocking the place up with a few nasty tricks in case the baddies come calling. Don't tell anyone, though, especially Willow. It's supposed to be secret. Damned if I know why. It's not like anyone would ever find all the damned things anyway._

_            Glad to hear Chubs is still miserably single. Must have been a sluggoth demon – those things are ugly and stupid. I'm with the Slayer, though. The dog getting eaten is damn hilarious. Wish I'd been there for that._

_            This bloke Jon better behave himself, or I'll be back early to do the bodily harm. Shouldn't Buffy be doing a better job protecting your virtue?_

_            Have a good time. Be careful._

_            As for Willow, it's true I don't see her much. When I do, she's usually with the Boy Hero. They've gotten real friendly. I think she wants some but won't admit it to herself. He's not much for the talking, so who knows what he's thinking. Like a stone, that one. As for her being gay, well, sometimes it's about the person, pet, not the pieces. _

_But that's it. You'll get no more gossip from the Big Bad._

_            I'm off to have a pint with Hagrid. He's a right good fellow, lives a stone's throw from the castle. Stay out of trouble. Spike_


	15. Alliances Old and New

            Neville thought he might die from fright.

            The Deputy Head of Gryffindor was probably the scariest man on the planet. His only competition might be Professor Snape, who Neville loathed and feared in equal parts (though he often let his fears control his actions). But that didn't matter as much; after four years of facing Snape, he at least knew what to fear. He had no idea what to do now.

            Grey faced him across the Gryffindor table, his eyes taking in Neville's terrified features. As always, he wore no expression. The table had cleared, the meal already five minutes past. Grey had waved for him to stay, knowing Neville had a free period now. The younger man had seen the auror eyeing him at various times since the beginning of school and, though it scared him, he had never bothered to wonder why.

            "You don't remember me, do you?" Grey asked. His voice was softer than Neville thought possible.

            "N-n-no, sir." Realizing the boy was frozen in fear, Grey let his mask drop and smiled in a friendly way.

            "Not sir. Just Grey. I used to babysit you." Curiosity overcame fear, and Neville gave him a puzzled look. "My father is Sir Robert Grey."

            "The auror?"

            "Yeah. My parents were … good friends of your parents. When you were real little, they would have me watch you while they went to dinner." Neville nodded, not remembering, but sure Grey was speaking the truth. "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to."

            "It's alright," Neville said. "I get scared pretty easily." Grey canted his head, confused.

            "Why?" Neville shrugged.

            "Don't know. I guess … I just do." Grey nodded.

            "I wanted to tell you a couple things, Neville." He had gotten past the fear; the boy was interested now. "The first is, I was and am really sorry about your parents. I felt like I should tell you." Tears filled both their eyes. "My parents visit them every year, did you know?" He shook his head. Grey waited for him to collect himself.

            "W-what's the other?" Neville asked a minute later.

            "I just wanted you to know that, if there's anything I can do for you, ever, all you have to do is ask. You don't have to be afraid of me." He rose to leave, slipping in one more sentence with a whisper. "Your parents saved my mother's life once." And he walked off.

            The trouble started in the hall ten minutes later. Neville detoured immediately to the bathroom, where he cried himself out and then cleaned up. He hadn't noticed Draco Malfoy or his cronies Crabbe and Goyle watching him and snickering. They were waiting in the empty hallway when he came out, his face still red and puffy.

            "Feeling better after your cry, Longbottom? What happened this time, mess your diaper?" On any other day, Neville would have run away to his room, dealing with Malfoy's teasing in silence. But talking about his parents always emboldened him. He knew they wouldn't have run. He was also plenty upset as it was, and didn't even think before clubbing Malfoy with his fist. The blonde went down with a solid shot to his nose.

            Crabbe and Goyle took the opportunity to start pounding on Neville. Thirty seconds later, two black-robed arms pulled them apart.

            "Mr. Longbottom," Snape said, dragging each syllable out. "What exactly do you think you are doing?"

            Neville's nose was bleeding; he didn't know it yet, but he would also have a seriously black eye in the morning. At the moment all he could feel was pain in every part of his face. Fear of Snape gripped his chest. He didn't respond.

            "I see. It seems you believe that fighting is an appropriate way to resolve disputes, then. Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention for two weeks. With me." Snape's detentions were legendary for their unpleasantness. Neville hung his head in defeat. He wanted to cry, but refused to give Malfoy the satisfaction. The three Slytherins were standing by, grinning at the predicament. "Now get yourself to Madame Pomfrey, all of you."

            Willow stormed into the library with Grey in tow. The four seated people looked up in alarm.

            "Giles, you have to fix this," Willow shouted before Grey could explain. "That-that bastard … grrr…"

            "Willow, please. Calm down and tell me what is going on and who you are referring to."

            "She's talking about Neville," Hermione said. She, Ron, and Harry were doing their best to cover up the titles of the books they had on the table. Fortunately, Willow was in no mood to notice.

            "What seems to be the trouble with Mr. Longbottom?"

            "It's my fault," Grey said. He looked at the students. "Do you guys know about his parents?" They nodded. He explained to Giles about Neville's parents and then said, "I talked with him after lunch. His parents and mine … knew each other. They were friends. We talked about them a little."

            "Neville doesn't talk about them," Ron broke in. "It gets him really upset."

            "I didn't mean to," Grey said, mortified that he had done so much damage trying to be nice. "I just wanted to offer to help him. Anyway, I guess he was crying or something, and that idiot Malfoy and his goons saw him." A sour look crossed Giles' face. In a little more than a month of classes, he had grown none too fond of the Slytherins, and of Malfoy in particular. "They teased him about it, and he dropped Malfoy with one punch."

            "Go Neville!" Ron shouted. Grey glared at him.

            "Not exactly."

            "Snape caught them," Hermione finished. "Fifty from Gryffindor and two weeks detention. For Neville only. Plus Crabbe and Goyle beat him up a bit."

            "I would like to help," Giles responded after a moment of consideration. "It seems unfair, but I just don't have the authority to overrule Professor Snape. Not when I wasn't there and a member of his own house took a punch."

            "But Giles …" Willow whined.

            "I'm sorry, Willow. There's nothing I can do."

            "You could leave the room," Grey said. Giles raised an eyebrow. Then he understood, and took his leave. "Willow, can you do me a favor and go find Spike?"


	16. Recuperating

            "Are we clear on how this will work?" Grey asked the assembled group. Willow had woken Spike early, collected him and Neville, and brought them to the Gryffindor common room. Grey, Ron, Hermione, and Harry had been waiting and plotting. An hour later, the plan was complete.

            "You guys don't have to do this. I hit Malfoy. It's plenty fair."

            "It's not fair, Neville," Harry argued. "You were defending yourself."

            "Yeah, it's not your fault Malfoy's a stupid git," Ron chipped in. "He's got no right to do that."

            "But it's not worth you all getting in trouble. I mean…" His voice trailed off as the assemblage all gave him a look. "Mr. Blood, I don't even know you." Spike and Willow laughed.

            "It's Spike, lad. Just Spike. And I'm just doin' it because it will be fun."

            "Wish I could be there to see it," Ron grumbled. Harry elbowed him to be quiet.

            "I'm not sure it's such a good idea. I mean, terrorizing students, even Malfoy, is really against the rules," Hermione said.

            "Snape terrorizes us," Harry responded. "It's only fair. Besides, it's Malfoy." She had already acquiesced, and only nodded to Harry's comment.

            "So, everybody ready?" Nods all around. Grey checked each face, especially Hermione's, to make sure. "Okay. Willow, take Neville back to the hospital wing now. If Madame Pomfrey asks, Giles needed to see him." She nodded and left. "The rest of you know what to do."

            The banging at the door woke Draco Malfoy with a start. Whatever Pomfrey had given him to fix his broken nose, it had put him to sleep fast. Still groggy, he saw Weasley talking to the nurse. He caught the words "Harry … broom … fell" from the frantic Gryffindor before the she grabbed a bag off the floor and ran out. He wanted to laugh, but he was nearly back asleep. What a perfect day … Potter and Longbottom … have to get Weasley next …

            That was when he heard the growl. 

Everything seemed fuzzy. Blinking his eyes failed to clear the fog of sleep, but through the haze, he thought he saw someone enter. Two someones. Both large.

"What do you think, Spike? Easy pickings?" It was that idiot bodyguard, the one who only wore blue. And the groundskeeper, the new one who scared the pants off of everyone. He growled his assent. Malfoy squinted. Something seemed to be wrong with their faces. They walked over to Longbottom, and Malfoy heard screaming. Then they turned on him. Their faces were covered in blood. They were both growling.

And they had fangs. 

Malfoy realized that he was the only one screaming now. They crept towards him, followed suddenly by Longbottom. He had fangs too. Three vampires, all coming for him. He felt something warm and wet spread down his leg right before he passed out.

When he woke up, Longbottom seemed to be sleeping soundly. Despite Malfoy's memory of Potter and a broom accident, the infirmary was otherwise unoccupied. Unfortunately, his bed was still wet.

Across the room, Neville held in a snicker. "Hey, Draco, you awake?"

"Yes, Longbottom. What is it?"

"What's that smell?"


	17. Masks

          The dining hall buzzed with rumors of Draco's accident.

          They told the whole story only to Fred and George Weasley, who laughed loud and long while complementing the deviousness of Gryffindor's Deputy Head. They offered generous praise to Hermione's fogging and illusion spells, and patted Ron on the head for his convincing portrait of a friend in distress.

Everyone else simply heard that Draco wet his bed from nightmares. When questioned, Neville would only shrug and say, "it smelled terrible." Needless to say, Draco remained another day in the infirmary to mend his nose.

          Once he was certain that all of the students had arrived for breakfast, Dumbledore rose and motioned for quiet.

          "Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "As some of you know, we have a traditional Halloween feast here at Hogwarts. We on the faculty have decided that this year, we will have two such feasts." Raucous applause rang out; Dumbledore waited patiently for quiet and continued speaking. "The first will be for first and second years only, and will commence two hours prior to the usual Feast. For you older students, we will be having…" he paused for dramatic effect, "something different. A costume ball." The cheering returned in force, causing Dumbledore to pause again. "A special trip to the town of Hogsmeade has been arranged for the weekend prior to Halloween. Those of you who wish to purchase actual costumes may do so at that time. Illusions are also welcome, provided they do not cross the bounds of good taste. Should you wish to go to Hogsmeade, please inform the heads of your house no later than the 24th. Good day."

          Willow was curious. She and Grey spent much of the time they weren't working in each other's company. He attended most of her magic lessons, both to comfort her and, she suspected, to be there in case things got out of hand. What he felt he might do that Dumbledore, McGonagall or Giles could not, she didn't know. He came anyway, and usually walked her home afterwards. Over the course of six weeks, though, she had never been to his room.

          Today was the day. Classes had finished, she had graded Giles' homework assignments, and her next magic lesson was days away. Buoyed by the success of their plan the previous evening, she figured she would just mosey on over and casually knock. It wasn't like she was going to make a move on him, was it? Just go over, inconspicuously, and say hello. As well as check out his inner sanctum.

          That plan, like most, didn't survive first contact with the enemy.

          "Halt! Who goes there? Declare thyself, knave!" The voice, English and authoritative, came from the painting concealing his door. More specifically, it came from a tiny man dressed as a knight, who stood in the painting.

          "Uh… Willow?" She said tentatively.

          "And do you know the password, milady?" came the sweet response.

          "N-n-no," she stammered.

          "Aaah! You must be a vile harlot then, seeking to poison the heart and mind of my noble sire. I think not, woman. Not while I, Sir …"

          "Cadogan, give it a rest," Grey said, popping his head out of the door. He motioned for Willow to come in. "This is Willow. She is a lady. You will treat her with great respect or I will put you back with the tea parties where I found you."

          "Of course, my lord. Lady Willow, I assure you I meant no offense."

          "It's okay, Sir Cadogan," she said with a laugh. "I'm glad you're so intent on protecting my friend." The knight blushed and offered a courtly bow. Willow stepped through into the suite. 

"He's big on the morning coffee, huh?"

          "Yeah. I guess he had some major foul-up the last time he was given something to guard. I found him sandwiched between two watercolors of English women having tea. He's amusing, at least."

          She glanced around, trying to take in the unfamiliar territory. The walls were mostly bare, but every conceivable countertop and shelf was cluttered with …

          "Toys!" she blurted.

          "What of it?" He asked, taken aback.

          "Your room is filled with toys." She walked over and examined them. "Star Wars. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. G.I. Joe. Wow. Some of this stuff is from when we were really little. Look at this, metal Transformers. Amazing."

          "So I'm a geek. Sue me." He said, embarrassed. One of the reasons he had kept her away from here was because of his collection. He was trying not to dwell on the other reasons.

          "No, it's okay, just …"

          "Really lame and dorky?"

          "I was going to say surprising." His cheeks were flushed. He really is embarrassed, she thought, I can't believe it. "You don't give off that geeky vibe. I should know. Xander would think he was in heaven if he came in here. He loves this stuff. If you had comic books, he'd move in."

          "Under the bed," Grey said sheepishly. "I pushed them under when I heard Cadogan." She laughed. "What were you expecting, candles and tatami mats?"

          "Kind of. I mean, no offense, but what kind of solemn defender of good has a room full of toys and comic books?"

          "They make me feel comfortable. I wasn't always the paragon of cool you see here today."

          "Want to hear a secret?" She smiled guiltily.

          "Sure."

          "Before I got all into the witchcraft, I spent all of my time doing two things."

          "One of them I know: pining after Xander." They had already discussed Xander at length.

          "Yup. The other?" He raised an eyebrow as she let the suspense build. "Hacking."

          "Is that so?"

          "Uh huh."

          "Guess, I'm not the only geek here then." She closed the distance between them.

          "You have no idea, young man. No idea." They were very close now, nearly touching. He was a few inches taller than her; he could look right down into her gorgeous green eyes. She smelled like vanilla. He loved that scent. Jess had worn it for years. He really missed it, and here she was, smelling like it, with green eyes…

          Vanilla. Jess. Damn.

          Willow was sure she was a half-second from testing her commitment to women when he retreated to the other side of the room.

          "This is so not good," he said softly.

          "What? What's so not good?" What did I do this time? Her insecurities kicked into overdrive as she tried to figure out what she had done wrong.

          "This … me … I can't … We'll talk later." He raced out of the room, leaving a completely confused redhead alone with her thoughts.


	18. The Vampire and the Geek

"You shouldn't be out here, Red. It's way past bedtime for all the little witches and wizards."

          "Not tonight, Spike. Not in the mood." Stupid vampire, interrupting a good brood.

          "Nasties in that lake, too. I see 'em sometimes on my rounds. Wouldn't want to be dangling your feet and have 'em chomped off."

          "That's why I'm not dangling them, isn't it?" She sat cross-legged on the dock, wrapped in a winter robe. The lake accentuated a chill that had crept into the nights. Spike dropped down beside her and pulled his duster close. The orange glow of his cigarette reflected off of the lake like a tiny star.

          "Haven't seen you hangin' with the Boy Hero in more than a week. What's the story there, pet?"

          "Like it's any of your business." He very nearly stood up and walked away in a cloud of profanity. The demon roared that he should bite her, chip be damned, for her insolence. But he knew she was alone with this, and he knew what the nibblet would say.

          "Dammit, Spike! You just left her there! Are you mental?"

          He stayed in his seat and took a pull on the cigarette instead.

          "Look, Red, something bad happened. Seeing as how there's no Slayer here, and no Chubs here, and no Little Bit here, and Rupert is an old man, I'd say you're left with fuck-all people to talk to other than me. So I suggest you stop bein' a bleedin' idiot and let it out." He thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

          "Gee, when you put it that way…" He stayed quiet, waiting. "Besides, you're way older than Giles."

          "Young at heart, luv. Young at heart. Comes from the not beating." In spite of herself, she chuckled. "See, there you go with the laughing an' all."

          "I think I've kind of fallen for Grey."

          "What is it the Bit would say? Duh?"

          "I didn't think so. I thought we were friends and I went to his room and that stupid knight got me all frazzled and he was a total geek with the Transformers and it was so cute and then we almost kissed and then he ran away." Her eyes filled. "Damn. Rambling Willow. Hate it when she comes out. I don't know what I did wrong," she added finally.

          "Maybe nothing," Spike said, still trying to sort out her story. "He ran away?"

          "We got real close and he was looking into my eyes. He's got awesome brown eyes. Then he turned and pretty much ran out the door."

          "Sounds like it's about him, Willow. Not you," Spike offered, his voice serious. "I've been watchin' the two of you. You're together all the bloody time. He talks to you. You have conversations. He says four words in a row to someone else, they write a story in that wizard's rag." Spike had developed a distaste for the _Daily Prophet_ when it stopped carrying summaries of _Passions_ two weeks earlier. "You know more about him than I do, but I'd say he's got somethin' holding him back." 

Willow thought of the story he had told. It all came together in a rush: how he felt, why he was here, what he was doing. She thought about Tara leaving her, and knew the answer.

"I figured it out."

"What is it, then, Red?"

"He came here to die."


	19. Honesty

          She sprinted from the dock, leaving a totally confused Spike in her wake. Her winter robe billowed out behind her, a blur of black as she moved faster and faster through the halls. At some point, she realized magic had come into play. Even without a wand. She didn't care.

          Snape, on evening patrol, felt the breeze but saw nothing more than a flash of black. When he turned, it was gone.

          Dumbledore, working late at his desk, felt the rumbles of Willow calling her power. He stood, intent on fetching Giles, but froze mid-stride as it ended.

          Giles, working late in the library, heard the buzz of air and the tapping of rapid footsteps. Looking out the door, he saw nothing.

          She stood face to face with Sir Cadogan fifteen seconds after leaving Spike.

          "Is he in there?"

          "My lady, don't take this the wrong way, but you seem a bit … perturbed. Perhaps you should…"

          "Perhaps you should open the damn door, tin britches."

          "Regretfully, I can not." Cadogan stood his ground.

          "Then I guess I'll have to …"

          "Don't you dare." The voice was cold. Menacing. Dangerous. She never thought she would hear it directed at her.

          "I was looking for you," she said, spinning on her heel. He had a broadsword raised in front of him.

          "Patrol. Outside. Spike's night off." Her eyes glowed with the darkness. "We finish this in my room, so no one gets hurt."

          "No one's going to…"

          "Yes or no? If it's no, I cut you down now." The sword had not dipped an inch. She knew he would do it without hesitation.

          "Dave, I … yes."

          "Cadogan."

          "The password, my lord?"

          "Coralvanda." The door swung open. He gestured for Willow to move first. They advanced into the room, still facing each other. "Care to tell me why you're into the dark magic and threatening my doorman?"

          "I-I didn't mean to … no magic was supposed to be involved. I just started running, and somehow it got faster and faster …" Her eyes reverted to green and she began to shake. He wanted to put his arms around, to whisper that it would be fine and that they could handle it. But he wasn't sure it would be fine, and he wouldn't lie about it.

          "Why were you running here? I saw you earlier, sitting on the dock. That's a lengthy run."

          "I was upset. You've been totally avoiding me after … what happened last week."

          "So?" He wasn't denying it. Her heart squeezed. Maybe she was wrong and it was about her.

          "I … oh, this is going to sound so stupid." Tears flowed freely from her eyes. "I realized why you're here. Why you accepted Dumbledore's offer. And I realized that I've been such a fool."

          "Dumbledore didn't make an offer until I suggested it was necessary. But now I'm curious. Why do you think I'm here?" The words were playful, the tone solemn.

          "You're here to die." The sword finally fell; he rested the tip on the ground and leaned the hilt against his thigh. "Because you can't live without her."

          "No, Willow, I'm not, and yes, I can."

          "You're not?" She had been so sure.

          "You're pretty much right, though, if you think I'm here to save Jess. I don't mind dying if I have to, to do that. Frankly, I just didn't care anymore, as long as I could help her." He was looking right into her eyes when he said it. "But I don't have my heart set on it, and it's less and less desirable every day. I came here because this is where she'll be. I think Voldemort will send her after Harry, and after Dumbledore. Mostly, though, I think he'll send her after you."

          "Me?"

          "Sure. Two dark witches would be a lot better than one. Dumbledore and Giles agreed. That's why they pushed so hard to bring you here. Even with the Slayer, you were too vulnerable in Sunnydale. Everyone on the dark magic side of the spectrum could feel your power growing."

          "Me?" She said it again, not believing.

          "They thought it was best not to tell you until you mastered your power. Spike, Giles and I have been setting all kinds of secret safeguards for months."

          "You ran away." He barely heard the tiny voice.

          "I did." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you or lead you on."

          "But why?"

          "Don't think I wanted to. And don't think it was you, because it wasn't." A small smile appeared on his face. "You're amazing, smart and fun and beautiful. You're the first person other than her that I've connected with in a long time."

          She stepped up to him and put her left hand on his cheek. She was still crying.

          "I really like you." It seemed weak to her, but he was touched.

          "Oh, Willow … I know. I just … I'm not ready. If I were, I'd be kissing you now. Things between Jess and I … they're over. I'll never love her again, even though I still care for her, but part of me hasn't accepted the news yet."

          "This sounds stupid," she said, her hand still on his cheek, "but how is it possible that you could stop loving her and be willing to die for her at the same time?"

          "I can't trust her. She tortured me, Willow, for hours." He pulled away from her hand. "You saw the scars. I still have nightmares about it. I'll always be afraid that it will happen again. What we had … it's lost."

          "But you'll die for her?"

          "It's not her fault that she did those things. I can't love her because she might do them again, but I won't abandon her because of something she can't control. Do you know why I didn't kiss you?" he asked.

          "N-no."

          "You smelled like vanilla. You have gorgeous green eyes. I would've been kissing her. Not you. I won't do it until I'm kissing you."

          "In my fantasy, when I'm kissing you, you're kissing me," she quoted.

          "Huh?"

          "Something Oz told me once. It means I understand."

          "Can you be patient? Hold onto me as a friend for awhile? I need time, more than anything," he said, suddenly entranced at the prospect of that time being over. He hadn't been at all sure how she felt.

          "On one condition." She grinned impishly, her fears dissolved. It wasn't her. They would work it out. She'd just have to wait for the smoochies to prove it.

          "What's that?"

          "Be my date for the Halloween Feast anyway?"

          "Deal."


	20. Seeking

          These were the days Harry cherished most at Hogwarts, the ones with empty evenings in the early fall or late spring. Freedom to do whatever they wanted, and the weather to do it outside. Quidditch practice had just ended, and his night was wide open. Ron managed to escape Hermione's clutches in the library and borrow George's broom. They met on the pitch as darkness approached.

          "Sirius gave me this last year," Harry said, holding up a velvet bag.

          "Have you heard from him?"

          "I get an owl every couple of weeks. He's off trying to get info on Voldemort for Dumbledore. The owls came from all over the world this summer."

          "So what's in the bag?" Ron asked.

          "Check it out." Harry opened the bag, releasing a specially modified snitch. It glowed in the dark, a tiny ball of yellow zooming around the stadium.

          "What fun is that? You can see it."

          "It's a smart snitch. It runs away." Harry grinned. "Race you?"

          "You don't have a chance," Ron teased, leaping onto his broom. The two Gryffindors took off after the yellow light.

          "God, they're such little kids sometimes," Hermione said to Willow. They could see Harry and Ron from their perch on a nearby hilltop. Willow had decided that Hermione didn't have enough female friends, so she instituted weekly girl talks with her and Ginny Weasley. This was the first one.

          "Ron really wants to make the Gryffindor team," Ginny said. "He's always upset that he can't practice."

          "Why not?" Willow asked.

          "No broom," Ginny answered with an accompanying shrug. Willow said nothing, having learned of the precarious Weasley financial situation from Grey.

          "He might be good enough to be a seeker anyway, if they didn't have Harry," Hermione said.

          "I think he'd make a good keeper," Ginny said. "We've never had one in our family, and Gryffindor needs a permanent one. He always plays it when they fool around at home." The regular Gryffindor keeper had developed a serious problem with vertigo. The reserves had rotated, allowing the team to sneak by Hufflepuff in the season's first match, but no one believed it would be good enough to take the Quidditch cup.

All three were silent for a few minutes, wondering what to say next.

          "So Ginny," Willow finally offered, "Hermione tells me you're head over heels for Harry." The youngest Weasley turned bright red as the other two laughed.

          "Could be worse," Ginny responded, overcoming her embarrassment. "He saved my life, so it's pretty obvious. Why don't you ask 'Mione who she's writing in her diary about?" Willow raised an eyebrow in the brunette's direction.

          "How did you … I-I mean, what are you talking about?"

          "I didn't, but I do now," she said. "It's sooo obvious, anyway."

          "Is not." Hermione pouted, feeling foolish for admitting anything.

          "We're talking about Ron, right guys?" Willow asked. Hermione and Ginny stared at each other, as if daring the other to say it.

          "Yes" was Hermione's quiet response.

          "Does he know?" Willow asked.

          "My brother?" Ginny laughed. "He wouldn't know if we strung the message out on this hill with little candles."

          "You can't tell him," a horrified Hermione pleaded. "I don't really have other friends than him and Harry, and I don't want to mess that up."

          "We won't," Willow intoned seriously. "Besides," she added with a grin, "you have us."

          "I think he'd go for it," Ginny speculated. "What are you doing for a date to the Halloween Ball?"

          "Going alone," was the somber answer.

          "Me too."

          "You guys are wimps," Willow said. "Want to hear a story?" They nodded. "When I was in high school, and it's a really long bad story that I won't get into, mostly because of skanky vampire me, but anyway, this girl Anya showed up one day. As she put it, she was 'newly human and strangely literal.'" Willow said, imitating the vengeance demon.

          She saw two pairs of raised eyebrows, but plunged ahead anyway.

          "Anyway, she totally wanted my friend Xander, but she didn't really understand human dating conventions or anything. So she simply walks up to him, asks him to this big dance and says," putting on her Anya voice again, "Look, I know you find me attractive. I've seen you looking at my breasts."

          The two younger girls giggled.

          "What happened?" Hermione asked.

          "Xander asked her to marry him last year," Willow said. She figured it was a good idea to leave out the whole 'left her at the altar' portion of the story. The girls cooed at the romantic ending. "You see my point?"

          "Umm … we should wear low-cut robes?" Ginny said, collapsing all three of them in a laughing fit.

          Up in the air, Harry paused, watching the girls fall on the ground. Ron pulled up next to him.

          "What do you s'pose is happening there?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

          "No idea," he replied, taking off after the snitch again.

          "You're saying we should just ask," Hermione said on the hilltop, once she had stopped gasping. Her tone communicated the utter terror she felt.

          "Yup. Sometimes what a girl makes has to be the first move," Willow said with a mischievous smile. "Besides, those two are way too nice to say no."

          "I don't want Harry to say yes because he's a nice guy," Ginny said. "I want him to say yes because he wants to be with me." Willow thought of Grey's words several nights before.

          "Sometimes you have to take what you can get, Gin," Hermione said, echoing Willow's thoughts. "Whereas, I don't think Ron IS that nice. He'd just fumble around, trying to figure out what was going on, before he said no."

          "Maybe," Ginny said, "but maybe not. Remember last year with Krum? He was really unhappy about that, and absolutely stunned by you."

          "What happened?" Willow asked.

          "Hermione got all dressed up for a dance she went to with one of the competitors in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Ron was in a tizzy, she looked so good."

          "No, he wasn't."

          "Oho," Ginny put her hand on Hermione's arm, "he certainly was. He's my brother, trust me I know. His ears were all red."

          "The official Willow opinion is that you guys should both ask. Then we'll get you fitted out with an expert makeup and hair consultant, and the boys won't know what hit 'em."

          They looked at her skeptically.


	21. The Message

          "Help you with something, blondie?" The vampire had wandered up to the roof, even though it was the wrong night for a sparring session.

          "Thought you might be up for an extra go-round, you working out every night an' all." Spike flicked his cigarette away. He wore only his boots, black jeans, and a dark t-shirt. 

Grey shrugged. "Why not?" As always, he wore blue workout clothes. He had a powder-blue sweatshirt on as a nod to the weather. They faced each other in the center of the roof.

"Ready then?" Spike asked. The auror nodded.

He had never seen the vampire move so fast. In an instant he was taking blows to the head and chest. Ducking behind his forearms, he frantically tried to back away. Spike pursued relentlessly, tossing the occasional kick or knee into the combination as he drove Grey across the roof. His target tried to spin away and get behind him, but Spike dropped him to the floor with an elbow in the kidney. He began to kick the prone figure in the back and stomach. Hard.

Grey wondered what had gotten the vampire so worked up. Angry now, he rolled over and scrambled to a standing position. He hit Spike with two right jabs and a left cross, followed by a whirling kick to the head. The vampire staggered back a step. A hard elbow to the chin and a knife-hand to the throat sent Spike reeling further. Grey grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back in to meet a waiting knee and a furious head butt. The vampire went down, his game face out and his eyes bright yellow.

"What the hell are you thinking?" The auror asked. "Or should I keep beating the shit out of you?"

"Thought you might be holding something back, hero." Spike knew the man loathed being referred to as 'Boy Hero.' "But I'd hardly say you're beating the shit out of me."

"You haven't answered my question."

"The Slayer wanted me to send you a message." He hopped from his back to his feet liquidly, then advanced on Grey. Faster than the eye could follow, he dove into a low tackle, taking Grey's knees out from under him. The auror fell face first onto the asphalt roof with an audible crack. Spike rolled away, climbing to his feet and slamming a steel toe into his head. He grabbed the collar of the blue sweatshirt and tossed Grey effortlessly against one of the blunt outcroppings at the edge of the platform. Punch after punch landed on the dazed auror, who idly wondered if part of the message was him dying. 

"What's that?" Grey croaked out, leaning forward and spitting blood. Spike hit him with an uppercut that sent him sprawling. Grey lay there, barely conscious, wondering how he could have been stupid enough to allow the vampire to beat the snot out of him. For the first time in months, he hadn't been ready for a vicious attack, and Spike had let him have it.

"Hurt Willow, and she'll come back to finish the job."

          Thirty minutes later, Grey limped to his room.

          "Pardon me for saying so, sir, but you look like the dragon won this round," Sir Cadogan said as a greeting. "Perhaps I should take your place the next time valiant deeds are required?" Grey chuckled.

          "Thanks, Cadogan, but the dragon just caught me unprepared. Coralvanda."

          The warmth of the fire bathed his face. Willow, her feet curled under her and one of his paperbacks in her hand, occupied a chair in front of the hearth. He stopped to stare. Gray sweatpants, one of his navy blue sweatshirts, red hair in a ponytail with the firelight dancing across it. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration and a frown line split her forehead. She looked absolutely stunning. He hobbled over and slumped down in the other chair.

          "Hey," he said, disturbing her reverie.

          "Oh! Hey. Didn't hear you come in. What are…" Seeing his battered face, her expression shifted to concern. "What happened?"

          "Some rough sparring with Spike. No big deal."

          "No big deal! That bully. He can't…" Grey cut her off with a raised hand. He understood that Spike and Buffy were protecting their friend, and he respected that. No harm, no foul.

          "I gave as good as I got. We were just feeling antsy." The concern didn't fade from her features. "Really, it's nothing a hot shower won't cure. What are you doing up here?"

          "Bored," she responded. "Thought I'd see what you had to read." She gestured to the seven-foot high bookcase he had filled. "You have weird taste in books."

          "Why do you say that?" He asked, easing out of the chair and walking to his closet. "Don't turn around. I need to change."

          "Okay, I won't." Yeah, right, they both thought. "You've got fantasy, sci-fi, tons of mysteries from guys I've never heard of, and an entire shelf of history books." He pulled off his blood-stained t-shirt, replacing it with a clean blue one. Willow, meanwhile, admired the taut muscles of his back. She had never seen him with his shirt off, and realized that he was built like a beer keg. Square with broad shoulders. It was quite a sight.

          "You have a problem with any of those?" He replied over his shoulder. For modesty's sake, he decided to stay with the dirty pants.

          "Somebody's defensive, huh?" She asked as he sat down again. "No, Mister Toy Collection, I don't have a problem with them. What's with all the history, though?"

          "I like to read about military history. American especially."

          "Why?"

          "Interesting people, interesting times. Some of those guys could change the entire planet with a word. What did you grab?"

          "_Voodoo River."_

          "Elvis Cole. Good choice. If you like that one, there's more, plus a few other guys who write like Crais does. Are you a mystery fan?" She shrugged.

          "Not really. Never read too much fiction like this. I was always into schoolwork and heavy reading, y'know? Plus, my whole life seems like a horror novel or the plot for some tv show."

          "There is that," he conceded. "So you figured that you heard my password once, you were welcome to come in and read my books anytime you wanted?"

          "Well, I … no, I mean …" Suddenly flustered, she began to babble. She hadn't expected him to be mad.

          "Relax. I'm just teasing. Of course it's okay." She glared at him, but couldn't hold it and began to laugh.

          "No fair. I'm easily confused."

          "Don't I know it." They both laughed at that. Grey marveled at the woman next to him; two months earlier he had been dead certain that he never wanted to laugh again. When Jess left, he had wiped every other reason for living out of his mind. He had hoped to become an angel of death, descending swiftly on Voldemort and his followers and then just as swiftly fading away.

          Now, he silently wondered if, when this war ended, he might not return to the friendly, outgoing man he had once been. Without Willow, he doubted it. But she was here. Her presence held the promise of the one thing he dared not hope for since the night Voldemort returned: rebirth.

          Maybe it's already happened, he mused.

          Shaking off the heavy thoughts, he caught Willow staring at him.

          "What?"

          "Hello? You've been sitting there doing the Angel thing for, like, five minutes."

          "The Angel thing?"

          "Brooding."

          "Oh, right. Buffy's ex-boyfriend, the one who fights evil in L.A. now."

          "He's big with the broodiness. Also with the lurking and not talking. You guys would get along great." She smiled as she thought of Grey and Angel in a brooding contest. Too close to call.

          "Probably be boring for everyone else, though. Two dangerous-looking guys sitting silently in a room."

          "Definitely." She rose from the chair. "Now that you're home safe, I should go. Early class with Giles." She paused, waiting for the invitation to stay. He wanted to offer, but the voice in the back of his head wouldn't allow it. The silence grew awkward.

          "Okay. I should be lurking as usual. Magic lesson tomorrow, right?"

          "Uh huh. Oh, and there's another project I need your help with." He gave her a questioning look. "Too much to explain now. I think your generals over there would call it recon. We'll talk tomorrow." On her way past, she swooped down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It broke the rule between them, but he wasn't upset. In his mind, he could see the blush creeping beautifully up her neck as she left. 

          He sat in front of the fire for an hour, savoring the feel of her lips on his face.


	22. Yours for the Asking

Willow's lessons were going well, though she refused to believe it. She had adjusted to the wand slowly, initially augmenting it with a burst of her own power to complete the assigned tasks. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had made the tasks smaller and smaller, forcing her to use control instead of power. The wand made the control easier, but she could feel the power threatening to leak out each time she invoked a spell. Today's assignment had been to separate a teacup into three portions, then change each into a thimble in turn. She could feel the magic burning in her to change them all at once, but she held it in. When the last thimble appeared, Grey and Giles clapped. Professor McGonagall offered one of her pinched smiles.

          "Very good, my dear. I can tell you were struggling not to do them all."

          "It's hard," Willow admitted. "It feels like I'm forcing a river into a pipe, and like it could just flood it without any warning or anything. Is that what it's supposed to feel like?"

          "Yes, quite," the teacher said. "Eventually, we will allow you to use more of your power, and that feeling will recede quickly."

          "It's like I said the other day, Willow," Giles said. "When you learned to drive a car, you learned at slower speeds, yes?"

          "Uh huh."

          "You learned to stop, to go, to turn, even to parallel park. Later, when you went on the highway, you could turn at higher speeds and brake hard when necessary. Do you see the similarity?"

          "I do, Giles. But the car wasn't fighting me to go faster when I was learning." Looking at the table in front of her, she added, "and I could get out if I wanted to."

          "Miss Rosenberg, despite your poor understanding of your own progress, I think you're doing quite well. Just because you have not finished learning does not mean that you are not doing it. We are through for today. Same time, the day after tomorrow, with Professor Dumbledore, if you would." The praise lifted Willow's spirits a bit. She nodded. McGonagall gathered her books and stood. "Rupert, would you care for a cup of tea in the staff room?"

          "Indeed, Minerva. That would be nice." They walked out together, leaving Grey and Willow alone in the classroom.

          "They're getting friendly, aren't they," Grey commented.

          "Oh, please. She's like thirty years older than Giles."

          "Didn't mean it that way. I think it's good. They think alike. Very orderly. They both need a friend, I would guess."

          "Is it me, or are you actually starting a conversation outside the confines of your room?"

          "Maybe."

          "Well, be careful. Someone might walk in."

          "I'll risk it. What did you want to ask me last night?"

          To take off your clothes, Willow thought. No. Bad Willow. Giving him time, hello … but still, those muscles, and that cheek …

          "Earth to Willow."

          "Huh?"

          "Last night. Something we had to discuss. Recon?"

          "Oh, right. Here's the problem…" She explained about Hermione, Ginny, Harry and Ron. "I need a guy's perspective and a devious mind to think up a plan." He pondered for a few minutes. Sometimes she wondered if he had spent so much time in silence that thinking now required physical effort.

          "I think," he said finally, "that Ginny should just ask. Harry will say yes. He doesn't have a date yet. They were talking about it the other day and didn't notice me. Ginny's going to have to do a bit of a selling job for more than that, though. Harry just doesn't see her that way, and altering that is a long-term project."

          "What about Hermione?"

          "Ron has a crush on you," he said matter-of-factly. Willow blushed. "He knows it's stupid. It's also real, and it's keeping him from thinking about Hermione. Not that we can do anything about that." He paused. What if … oh, wow.

          "You look like you got a brainflash. What is it?"

          "Brainflash?"

          "Sunnydale for epiphany."

          "Oh. Maybe. What about this?" He explained his idea. "Could she handle that?"

          "I'd have to ask. It would be pretty embarrassing."

          "Well, listen to the second part, and see what you think." He went on for another two minutes.

          "That's actually not a bad idea. And it forces Ginny and Harry to unwittingly work together." He nodded. "Let's try it."

          The dance was a week away. Ginny had done her asking, and Harry, being the man that he was, could hardly say no. He and Ron observed a great deal of whispering between her and Hermione after that, but neither had been able to grasp the content. Harry speculated that they were trying to figure out how to get Hermione a date, but were embarrassed to tell the boys. Ron seemed perturbed at the thought of Hermione having a date, though Harry couldn't force him to admit that he wanted to take her. He was too stubborn, and kept turning the subject to Willow.

          The four of them had a corner booth at the Three Broomsticks. Madame Rosmerta had just served their second round of butterbeers when Grey and Willow walked in. Ginny waved to them, causing an indiscreet elbow from Hermione.

          "Now's your chance," Ginny whispered. Harry and Ron looked on in surprise. Hermione looked aghast, but quickly covered up as the couple walked over. The boys could see her steeling herself for something.

          "Hey guys. What's the what?" Willow asked with a cheery smile. Grey nodded at them all. He wore his usual impassive visage.

          "Nothing much. Do you guys want to sit down?" Ginny said. Hermione's face flickered from controlled to angry and back.

          "We probably shouldn't. I want to shop for some stuff for Dawn while we're here. That Honeydukes place looks like it has a lot she might like."

          "Grey, c-could I talk to you? In private?" Hermione stammered. The auror raised an eyebrow, then nodded. They walked over to an unoccupied corner of the room.

          "Him?!?" Ron hissed. "She wants to go with him?" Ginny nodded.

          "Oh dear," Willow said, shaking her head. "This isn't going to be pretty. Grey … isn't the most tactful guy. Plus, he has a date."

          "He better not hurt her feelings," Ron steamed.

          "You're totally overreacting, Ron. Hermione can handle herself," Ginny said. She and Willow fought the urge to snicker. Harry was afraid of what Ron might do.

          "Ron, he'll kick your ass," the Boy Who Lived said quietly. They all saw Hermione's face fall as Grey shook his head.

          "I swear, if he …" Tears trickled down Hermione's face. She ran out of the room at top speed. Ginny bolted after her. "Dammit!" Ron rose to his feet as Grey walked over. "What the hell did you say to her, you …" His face went crimson as blood rushed to his head. He reached for his wand, but Grey grabbed his hand.

          "Ron," he said in the quiet, menacing voice he had used on Vernon Dursley, "don't do that. You will regret it." He softened a little, released Ron's hand and continued. "She asked me to the dance. I explained that I couldn't because I had a prior commitment." He nodded at Willow. "Then I said that if I didn't, I would have been honored to escort her, but if she was looking for more than that, I could not oblige. That's why she began crying."

          "But you could've … she just … why …" Ron blustered.

          "What could I do, Ron? I couldn't say yes because I have a date. I couldn't lead her on about anything else. I'm twenty-three. She's fifteen. Think it through." He could see comprehension dawning on Ron's face. Weasley's eyes flicked to Willow and back to Grey. Without another word, Ron walked out of the bar. Harry shrugged apologetically and followed him.

          Neither one saw the enormous grin on Willow's face as they left.

          "She's been in there for two days!" Ron shrieked. "We have to do something." Hermione had yet to leave her room since returning from Hogsmeade. Ginny had been delivering her meals. Willow and Grey had arranged for her to be excused from class 'on a special assignment'. Giles, claiming he preferred to remain ignorant, had signed the appropriate notes and not asked questions.

          Ron quickly lost his cool. It showed no signs of returning.

          "Somebody should talk to her," Harry said. "Ginny and I have tried. Ron?"

          "I don't know." He looked suddenly doubtful. "What would I say?"

          "Just ask her if she's okay. Make up the rest as you go," Ginny said. He didn't look convinced.

          "Chances are she won't let you in, even," Harry said. "It can't hurt."

          "D'you think?" Ron said. They nodded. He couldn't understand why he was so worked up about this. It really pissed him off, seeing Grey dismiss her so coldly. Why couldn't that guy get a personality? Oh, what the hell. She probably won't let me in anyway. "Alright. I'll try."

          He walked over to the girls' dorm and knocked on her door. There was no answer.

          "'Mione?" he said, pushing the door open. She was lying on her bed. No one else was in the room.

          "Go 'way." She sounded as if she had been crying. Little did Ron know that they were tears of laughter; she had been listening to him rant and rave for an hour. He walked over and sat on the bed next to hers. She felt the butterflies moving in her stomach.

          "You okay?"

          "What do you think?" She gave him a 'you're so stupid' look.

          "D'you need anything? Dinner or something?"

          "Already ate." They sat in silence for a minute.

          "I-I'm sorry about Grey," he said, not knowing how else to bring it up.

          "Yeah, well, me too. Don't know why I thought he would've wanted to go with me anyway."

          "It's not his fault he's stupid. All he thinks about is Willow anyway. It's so flamin' obvious."

          "No wonder he'd rather be with her than me," Hermione said, though she was thinking of Ron instead of Grey as she forced the words out. "I mean, she's so smart and so gorgeous with that red hair. Plus, she's one of the nicest people ever."

          "Yeah, she is," he said. Her face fell. Realizing the error, he stumbled on. "B-but you're awful nice too."

          "Lot of good that does me and my date."

          "You have a date?" She glared at him. "Oh. Yeah, right. Sorry."

          "Not going anyway, so it doesn't matter. Just sit here and be ugly by myself."

          "Aww, 'Mione, you can't do that. And you aren't ugly. I-I think you're real pretty. And last year? When you went with Krum? You were way prettier than Willow." As he said it, he realized the truth of it. Hermione was beautiful. "'Sides, if you don't go, who am I going to hang out with? I don't have a date either, and Ginny's going to be with Harry the whole time."

          "So?" She said. She knew it was close, as long as she didn't screw it up. "I can't go alone. Not after that scene I made in Three Broomsticks."

          "I'll go with you," he decided. What else could he do?

          "Thanks, but no thanks," she said, remembering Ginny and Grey and their words of caution. 'It has to be about you. Not about pity,' Grey had said weeks before. "I don't want to go with you because we have no one else to go with. Sorry."

          "But … but Hermione…"

          "Sorry, Ron. I'd rather stay home." As the silence lengthened, she thought she'd blown it.

          "That's not why," he said after the long pause. She looked at him, tears in her eyes. "It's true that I don't want you to be upset. And if it was just me feeling sorry for you, I'd let you stay home because it would make you happier." He remembered what Grey had said in the bar. "But it's not that. We've been friends awhile. You're nice, and beautiful, and way smarter than me. I'd … I'd be honored to escort you, if you'll let me. Because I want to be there with you, not because I don't want you to be there alone." She smiled her acceptance.

          Hook, line, and sinker.


	23. Dream

          "I think it's just about perfect now. I don't envy you that hair, girl," the face in Willow's fireplace said.

          "Took long enough," Hermione agreed. Willow and Ginny had been elaborately pinning it up for longer than she could tolerate. It does look great, though, she admitted as she glanced in the mirror. "But thanks for your help, Cordy."

          "No problem, kiddo. Next time I'll do it in person. Now you guys go get dressed," Cordelia Chase told the group. Willow had owled for help, and Cordelia responded with gusto. She wondered what her head looked like, sitting in the fireplace without a body. The spell instructions had been weird, but Wesley had deciphered them. She had carefully coiffed her own hair before appearing on display. 

          She liked the two English girls, even more so when she realized that not long before she would have looked down on them as complete dorks. Plus, she appreciated Willow asking her for help. Part of her wished they could have been closer before Cordy moved away. She also desperately hoped to get a glimpse of Willow's date, who had yet to become her man, according to Buffy, but it seemed unlikely.

          Fifteen minutes later, the girls returned, looking, in Cordelia's opinion, fantastic. Hermione, dressed as Cinderella, had opted for a stunning light blue ball gown and had turned her shoes transparent. Ginny had colored her hair with a spell to match the motif.

          Ginny made a lovely Tinkerbell, with a modestly short and filmy one piece white dress Hermione had transfigured. Her wand had been accessorized with white coloring and a tiny star at the tip. Willow and Cordelia were certain Ron and Harry would keel over on the spot when they saw the girls.

          Willow had queried Grey about his choice, but he refused to answer. Sure it would be something blue, since he never seemed to wear another color, she had decided to go as Princess Leia, who had no specific color scheme. Cordy had tried to tempt her into the gold bikini, but Willow went for a white sleeveless gown instead. It shamelessly revealed her figure, despite hanging almost to the floor and showing little skin. The younger girls had given her hair the earmuff look to complete the costume. She figured that with Grey's love of all things Star Wars, it would be a big hit.

          "You guys look fantastic!" Cordy crowed. "Smoochies all around!" All three women blushed. "No, really. Your dates are going to be blown away."

          The boys were waiting outside Willow's room.

          "You're sure we look okay?" Ron asked Grey for the hundredth time. The auror nodded. Harry was less worried, knowing he was going with Ginny and thus certain he could wear a sack and be admired. Ron, however, had been having fits of anxiety all day. Grey had steered their costume choices to match the girls, unbeknownst to them. Harry seemed to enjoy the Peter Pan outfit, especially with pants instead of tights. 

          Professor McGonagall, at Giles' urging, had conjured Ron's outfit. It was a full set of deep purple seventeenth-century muggle court regalia, covered with lace at the shoulders and cuffs. He looked very much the Prince Charming, except for his fidgeting and pulling at the high collar. He felt like that idiot Lockhart in this ridiculous get-up.

          Not knowing what Willow was wearing, Grey selected a costume close to his auror roots.

          The door opened at 7:30 exactly, as Willow promised. Ginny stepped out first, to compliments from her brother, who beamed with pride, and Harry, who recovered from his awe long enough to tell her how beautiful she looked and hand her lavender roses. At Willow's urging, Grey had purchased identical flowers for the boys to give their dates.

          Hermione came next; Grey and Harry thought Ron's heart stopped when she emerged from the doorway. He stood, mouth gaping, at the Cinderella look-alike wearing Hermione's face.

          "Hermione … wow," was all Ron could say. She curtsied.

          "Thank you. You look dashing yourself." 'And he's here with me!' her heart screamed. She wanted to hug Grey for his brilliant plan, but that would spoil the whole thing. Ron offered her his arm and his own set of lavender roses. Seeing the look on her face as she took the offerings, Grey nodded as if to say 'my pleasure'.

          Then Willow came out, and his mind went blank.

          Willow walked through the door and saw Grey. Her mind went blank.

          "Who told you…" they said at the same time. Grey had selected black pants and borrowed a shimmery black shirt from Spike. A replica lightsaber from his toy collection hung from his belt. 

          He recovered first. His face broke into a wide grin, shocking the two younger couples.

          "Willow, I don't have the words. You're amazing." He took in her figure in the white dress, her hair in the twirls. She glowed as she walked up and put her arms around him.

          "Just tryin' to push your decision along," she whispered in his ear. "You look fabulous, Dave," she said more loudly.

          "How did you know? I even kept the Jedi thing secret from Ron and Harry."

          "I didn't," she said with a smile. "I just knew you liked Star Wars and I thought you'd like this." She pulled back and did a little twirl.

          "You have no idea how much I like it. But I like you best." He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. All eyes in the hallway grew as big as dinner plates. None of the students had ever seen Grey show emotion. It was like seeing a completely different person.

          "But … why … how … huh?" Willow babbled. He leaned in closer, taking her in his arms and speaking so softly that only she could hear.

          "I'm not really ready yet." His tone was heavy, but his eyes were light. "But if you're still interested in a broken former geek like me, I would love to take you on a real date after this. As long as we take it slow." Then he realized something and leaned away, looking into her eyes. "You smell like cinnamon."

          She grinned.

          "Yup. No desire to smell like some other girl. I'm my own Willow."

          "I like it." And he did. She smelled … alive. Impulsively, he kissed her again. She reached up and grabbed the back of his head, deepening the embrace. A loud cough from Ginny brought them back.

          "Sorry, guys, but we have a dance to go to. Plenty of time for that later," she smirked, leading her date away. Grey took Willow's hand and led her behind the other two couples. As the six of them strolled down the hall, Grey leaned over to her.

          "I bet you don't know why I'm dressed as a Jedi," he said. She looked at him askance. "Do you know what Jedi are based on?"

          "Aurors?" she said, surprised.

          "Uh huh." Seeing her look, he added, "What, you thought George Lucas was a muggle?" She giggled. "Seriously, though, some aurors like me – without magic –  used to carry lightsabers that could block curses."

          "Really?"

          "Yeah. But a bunch of them went bad when Voldemort came to power, and the Ministry banned lightsabers completely. They rounded up every last one and destroyed them, supposedly." He looked wistful, something she had never seen before. "It would have been useful."

          "Not to burst your how-can-I-fight-better bubble," Willow said, "but we're here." They could see the glow from the decorations and hear the loud chatter over music as the revelry spilled through the doorway. "Shall we?" she asked.

          "After you," he said, gesturing grandly for her to enter first.

          Neither the Jedi nor the Princess saw the pair of black eyes watching them from the shadows.


	24. Reality

          The room had been decorated in grand Hogwarts fashion. Rather than candles, lit jack o'lanterns floated above the crowd. Higher still flew ghosts and poltergeists recruited by Nearly Headless Nick for the occasion. The ghostly party swirled and moved, adding a second layer to the corporeal one. Tables had been setup along the walls and filled with a sumptuous buffet. The faculty gathered around their usual table, watching the students and occasionally dancing to the phantom band floating with the ghosts.

          Willow thought she would die from the sight. Giles had pulled out one of his old tweed suits, the like of which she had not seen since high school.

          "Tell me you aren't here as a librarian," she said when they wandered over to him. She had just finished laughing so hard that her head hurt.

          "Actually, I'm here as a muggle librarian," he replied, sipping his punch. "I thought it rather appropriate." He took in their attire. "What exactly are the two of you supposed to be?"

          "Giles suffers from pop culture deficiency," Willow explained to Grey. "Star Wars … Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia?"

          "Aah, I see," Giles said.

          "I'm gonna grab some punch. I'll be back soon," she said, squeezing Grey's arm as she left.

          "We've not talked much, have we?" Giles said after Willow had departed.

          "Not really, no."

          "I've been meaning to … well, to thank you." Emotion seeped into Giles' voice. "You may not know this, but I have always considered Buffy and Willow as … as my daughters. Especially with Willow's parents out of the picture, and now that Joyce has passed on."

          "I got that feeling from her," Grey said, to let Giles know that he was listening as his eyes scanned the room. "She feels the same way."

"I was terrified of how this would turn out for her, that she might go inside herself and lose all the things that make her so wonderful." The older man paused, on the verge of tears. "I thought she would never recover when Tara left and she lost the ability to control her magic. More than anything here, you have prevented that from happening. You've given her something and someone to care about. I understand that you've had some … difficulty in the past year. What you've done for Willow, in spite of that, is something I could never repay."

"Giles," Grey said, turning to face the older man, "There's no debt. Believe me when I say she's done as much for me as I have for her." Giles nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to be with her now."

"By all means." Grey left the Watcher, touched by the depth of his feeling, and found Willow talking to Harry and Ginny. The three of them chatted merrily as Grey half-listened. His hand rested in Willow's.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" She said after a few minutes.

"The Elvira wannabe." He pointed with his chin to a tall pale woman slow-dancing with Spike.

"Why?"

"Something familiar about her. The way she moves." He shrugged it off. "Let's dance."

They stayed on floor for a long time, slow-dancing regardless of the song, reveling in being so close. Grey could feel the barriers finally breaking down. He rested his face in her hair, loving the smell of the cinnamon. He realized that this was exactly where he wanted to be. For so long, he had talked with Willow, wishing he was talking to Jess. Longing for their banter, even for the bouts where it turned nasty. He had heard Willow's voice and wondered what Jess would have said.

Tonight, he only wanted to hear Willow, to listen to her, to bask in her giddiness and enjoy that she had opened her enormous heart to him.

When they finally broke apart, he looked into her eyes and smiled. His genuine smile. Not the one he had put into a box before Voldemort and never removed, but a new one. 

"That's your smile, isn't it?" she said in a breathy tone. "The one you lost."

"No. That one is gone. This one … it's the other one, with more understanding. Does that make sense?" She knew he meant his feelings, not his smile, and felt warm and bubbly inside. "How did you know it was different from my others?"

"I never saw you smile with your eyes before." His kiss lasted almost as long as the dance, and no one broke them up this time.

"Good work, mate," Spike said after they left the floor. Grey was amazed to see that Willow wasn't even embarrassed. She went off to talk to the four kids and Neville Longbottom.

"Thanks, Spike. I had help." The sparring partners chuckled. "What's the story with Elvira over there?"

"Not a bloody clue. Good dancer, though. I think it's an illusion, but she's no student."

"Tell Willow I'll be back. My spider-sense is tingling." Grey left the vampire and walked towards the tall woman. She seemed to be lingering in the middle of the dance floor as a fast number came to a shattering halt.

As he approached, he looked her over carefully. Straight black hair in a beehive. At least six inches taller than him, not including the hair or her heels. Low-cut black dress, ankle-length but with a massive slit up the left side. She has good legs, Grey noted. He had almost closed the distance between them when the smell stopped him short.

Vanilla.

The tall woman turned and looked him over. Her lips curled in a predator's smile.

"Hello, lover."


	25. Nightmare

          The illusion melted before his eyes. The dress remained, but it miraculously adjusted as she shrunk. At the end, she stood an inch shorter than him. Her hair fell to her shoulders in brown and ebony ringlets. Her skin darkened from milk-white to a dusty taupe. The iris of her eyes expanded to cover them entirely. The sneer never wavered.

          Grey hid his surprise with a nod and a half-bow.

          "I wondered when I might see you again." A slow song began to vibrate through the hall. "How about one last dance, before you destroy a lovely party?"

          "My pleasure," Jess said. He took her in his arms as he had a thousand times before. His hands still fit perfectly at the small of her back; hers wrapped easily into their place behind his neck.

          He smelled vanilla and wished for cinnamon. 

Forgive me this, Willow. I have to try.

          "It's been a long time."

          "I guess it has," she acknowledged.

          "I'm going to die tonight, aren't I?"

          "You don't have to." It came out soft. Her head was cocked as she watched his face. They swayed softly with the music. "You could join us."

          "You know I can't."

          "You could. You might not miss me, but I so badly miss you. More than you can imagine."

A solitary tear rolled off his face and splashed on the floor.

"You left, hon," he said gently. "I would have stayed with you forever, even if you never left that room. But you got up. You tortured me. You walked out." He paused. "You have no idea the depths of my missing you."

"I did what I had to do. I had power. I had a destiny. I still do. But we could have it together. He'll take you in, if you truly give yourself to it. We could be together. I want us to be together." Her pleading voice jolted him. How could he have forgotten how much he loved her? How much he loved that voice and the feel of her next to him? The smell of vanilla? Grey wondered suddenly if he should go with her.

Willow nearly pulled Spike's arm off to get his attention.

"Who the fuck is that?" Willow snarled. She watched as Grey took the woman in his arms. Across the room, Ron and Harry saw it too, and pointed it out to Hermione and Ginny. Suddenly, Harry's scar nearly tore his head off with pain. Ron and Hermione caught him before he fell over.

"Was that Elvira lookin' bint. Then she changed all of a sudden, and the Jedi asked her to dance." Willow saw Harry and began to worry.

"He did what?"

"He asked her to dance. Don't know who she is, though.

"It's her. Godammit!" Willow's eyes went black. Spike wrapped his arms around her and spoke into her ear.

"Red, you have to control it. You lose it now, and it's a bad scene. Everyone will see. Do you trust him?"

"Y-yes," she squeezed out. The black faded to green.

"Then trust him."

"Something bad is going to happen," she said, shrugging him off. She had her anger under control now; a second of pause did it. This was Grey. He had smiled at her. Now he was doing what he had to. So would she. "Get Giles. Make your way to the doors. I'll cover this side."

"How do you know?"

"Did you see Harry? His scar must have hurt bad for him to fall over like that. That means major evil."

"Or you can stay here," Jess said, interrupting his thoughts. She always did that, he remembered. "I mean, I can't offer you any spindly little redheads to fuck." Her body went rigid, but he held on to her.

"I never slept with her. We aren't together."

"You were about to. I've been watching you. That's our smile that you gave her. My smile." God, is she actually hurt? "How could you?"

"Nothing has happened between us yet. But when it does, it will be different than what we had. It isn't your smile. It's Willow's. Yours is for you alone." As proof, he gave it to her. She could see the difference, despite the darkness clouding her mind. Hers held an innocence the other had lost, a shyness burned away by her power. It was an old smile, its time already past. He was a different man, and it looked odd on his face. She wondered how he could still smile that way. "The real question is, how could you torture me like that? How could you say those things?"

"I had to make you understand what I was. What I am."

"That isn't what you are, my love. I know what you are. Know who you are. Know every inch of you. Come back to that. Let all this darkness go. They're helping Willow, they could help you. I could help you." He meant it with all of his soul. He hoped it would be enough. "Come back to me."

She pulled away and her eyes were green. Her lower lip trembled; it meant she was terrified beyond rational thought. He put his right hand on her cheek, his thumb softly stroking her lips.

"Could I? Would you really help me? Do you … do you still love me, David?" Her voice was a whisper, but it was the old voice. From before. He could feel the knot in his stomach untwist. He had her back. Finally.

"Of course. You know that. No matter what. You and I. Always." He pulled her into him, rubbing her back in lazy circles, hoping to calm the shaking that he knew from long experience accompanied the lip tremble.

He realized after a second that she wasn't shaking.

"You're still a fool, you know that?" Another voice said from his shoulder. She pushed him away and put her hand to his throat. The green eyes faded back to black and the power visibly rippled outward from her. Then three things happened at once:

She lifted Grey off his feet as they both floated into air. Her magical grip tightened and he began to die.

Several of the tables caught at the edge of the the power ripple bucked and heaved, as if they suddenly came to life and writhed under their own power. Most of them exploded, sending jagged wooden shrapnel into students and faculty. The rest merely flipped over.

Green bursts shot from Jess' free hand, encasing Willow, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape in green rings of energy. None of the four could move or speak as they slowly rose off the floor.

Then things went from bad to worse.

Everyone began screaming. Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Neville ducked behind one of the fallen tables, frantically praying that the cover would be enough. The students began a mad rush for the door. Those that made it out came face to face with Giles and Spike in hand to hand combat. Their opponents, gnarled and hairy creatures called gnolls, stood six feet high and carried clubs. Their awkward, jerky gait and deformed bodies possessed a staggering amount of power.

Ten of the gnolls pushed the two Scoobies back towards the hall, battering the frightened partygoers as they clubbed their way through. Spike landed a few good punches, but realized they were vastly outnumbered and retreated into the dining hall. Giles tried to follow but took a club to the head. He fell without a sound.

When the gnolls burst through the door, the room had mostly emptied of mobile victims. Bodies of the dead and wounded littered the room. The beasts surrounded Spike, slamming at his head and torso with their crude weapons. He punched one more in the head, but the movement left him wide open for another two. The combined blow lifted him from his feet and pitched him onto the faculty dais. The clubs and the landing knocked him unconscious.

"I came back for you," Jess screamed at Grey in the center of the room. His vision began to go black from lack of oxygen. "I made him send me, so I could have you. And what do I find?" She waved her arm; he spun and fell headfirst into the floor. His skull audibly cracked as it hit the floor. "You've forgotten me. Me! I was everything to you! Do you remember saying that?" A bolt of red energy crackled as it left her eyes. It caught Grey in the chest, burning him and charring his clothes and skin. "Liar!" She gestured again, and a group of jagged black energy blades appeared in the air. They flew forward, slashing at him and cutting deep, then raking him a second time on the backstroke before dissolving.

Willow struggled against her bonds, watching helplessly as Jess tortured him. She knew, on some primal level, that she was stronger than the dark-haired witch. But, untrained and unused to her power, she could not overcome the vice that held her. Dumbledore and the others hung motionless in the air, the spell strong enough to knock them out.

Behind the overturned table, the rest of the group waited for an opening.

"We need to do something," Hermione hissed at Harry.

"I'm open to suggestions," he retorted. "None of us is powerful enough to fight her. Not even close."

"W-we could all hit her at once," Neville offered. He was so frightened he was shaking. "Maybe freeze her?"

"Fuck yeah. Let's try," Ron said. They all nodded.

"Me too," said a sixth voice. "That bitch hurt me bad." It was Draco Malfoy. He had huge splinters of wood in his right arm and thigh. Everyone looked at Harry, who nodded.

"Can you stand, Malfoy?"

"Not well. Can one of you pull this shit out of me?" No one moved. "Please?"

"Fine." Ron reached over and grabbed the splinter in his thigh. "This will hurt somethin' fierce as well." Malfoy nodded. Ron yanked and the wood came free. Gritting his teeth, Malfoy kept silent. Ron pulled the other one, and the pain nearly made the Slytherin pass out.

"Thanks, Weasley," he said grudgingly. "Potter, let's do this."

"Freeze her," Harry said. "Then go for those hairy guys. On three. One … Two … Three!" All six of them popped to their feet.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" they roared as one. The curse shot from six wands and hit Jess in the side. She flew backwards and landed against the wall. 

Grey dropped to the ground in a heap. Still conscious, he could feel the shallowness of his own breathing. His chest burned, as it had months before when she first used the knives. But the pain now paled in comparison to the pain then. Willing himself to ignore it, he gathered the strength to stand. He had trained for this. He would see it through.

The evil witch came slowly to her feet. The curse stunned her, but it was gray magic, used with the intent to harm. The power soaked into her like a sponge.

"What now?" Ron shouted.

"Scatter!" Harry ordered. "Do what you can!" Malfoy, unable to run, began firing off curses he had only heard whispered about in his house. The other five ran in different directions, flinging curses on the move. Most missed; the others, lacking the combined might of the first, she harmlessly absorbed.

"You kids are really something," she said, impressed by their bravery. It almost made her regret having to kill them. She summoned lightning, channeling it through her hand and flinging it at Ron and Hermione, who darted towards the frozen teachers. Ron tackled the girl, in the process taking  a bolt of lightning headed for her chest. He slumped atop her, and she screamed. On the other side of the room, Harry, Ginny and Neville began cursing the gnolls. Some hairy demi-humans fell, but the others advanced on them with frightening speed.

The bolt meant for Ron missed; it plowed straight into Willow. The contact ignited her dormant power. Summoning raw force with an ease she had never known, she tore the bonds asunder and floated towards the witch.

"That was a mistake you'll never live to understand," Willow growled. She lifted her hand and incinerated the remaining gnolls.

"If you believe that, you're more of a fool than your boyfriend," Jess said, her face twisted into an evil grin. 

Grey staggered to his feet between them before they could trade magical punches. 

"This ends now," he said, summoning his last reserves of strength. He looked at Jess. "Leave and never come back. We're finished." They both knew he didn't mean the fight.

"Or I could kill you all now," she said.

"We both know he doesn't want that. We know what he wants. Tonight, someone will die if you try and take her."

"Maybe that someone will be you." 

Willow's power hissed and popped behind him. He couldn't see them, but clouds of black energy had gathered at each of her fists. If he moved a foot either way, she could loose it on Jess and finish this. It begged her to let it run free, called to her seductively with promises hidden in her dreams. The power cared not at all that Grey stood in the way. It demanded release.

She focused on the memory of his smile. The thought held her power at bay.

"Make the call."

Jess looked around. The four remaining kids had their wands out. Spike had risen shakily to his feet, but looked menacing enough in his game face. Giles, a large welt forming on his forehead, had a gnoll's club at the ready just inside the door. He stood next to Hagrid, who had come down from his house with Fang and an enormous crossbow. Fang growled and danced on the end of his leash. The witch floated behind Grey, an image of angelic power in the white gown.

Finally, she looked at Grey. Their eyes locked. She knew she could kill him, could kill them all, even the redheaded bitch who had stolen him. He knew it too. She didn't want to. Some part of her, despite all she had done to him, refused to deliver the killing blow. 

She fled through the doorway and out into the night.


	26. Waking

          The students filed somberly into the dining hall. Several seats remained conspicuously empty at their first meal outside of the common rooms since Halloween.

          Albus Dumbledore caught the mood of the group instantly, and he worried. He felt the expected sorrow and mourned the loss of innocence in so many children. What he should have felt, and did not, was the accompanying rage. He felt it in some – Harry Potter and his friends, the remaining Weasleys, even Draco Malfoy, whose friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had been among the casualties. But most seemed numb with horror.

          Dumbledore rose to his feet. There was no need to motion for quiet.

          "It has been, perhaps, the longest three days in the history of Hogwarts," he intoned. "We are much poorer now, for the loss of fifteen of our friends. Others, as you know, lie in a most terrible state in the infirmary. We can not change this. We can not reverse this. It is done, and now it is the past. We can only help those who still need it, and mourn those who do not."

          "Those who did this will return. I say this not to frighten you, but to make you understand. I know you have all heard the rumors. If Hogwarts were to close, if it were to remain, they will still be out there. Waiting. Watching. They will return for all of us, wherever we might be, until no one is left to oppose them." 

          "We must be ever wary. For when they return, it will be incumbent upon all of us to stand and fight them. If you can not muster the strength to do so on your own behalf, I ask that you remember our fallen friends, and do so on theirs." The elderly wizard returned to his chair, remembering his similar speech following the Tri-Wizard Tournament the year before. For a brief moment, he felt every bit the tired old man. The fleeting sensation passed, though, and he switched to more urgent worries.

          Only two patients remained in the infirmary. Everyone else had been either healed or lost. Madam Pomfrey, after 72 straight hours on her feet, retired to her quarters for a brief rest. In her absence, visitors piled in.

          The Weasleys, an army in their own right, besieged Ron's bed. He had been awake on and off for a day; the lightning left him badly burned on his back and left shoulder. There would be scarring, but Madam Pomfrey believed he would recover quickly. His mother sat on the side of his bed and stroked his hair as her husband and sons quietly conversed. Ginny, exhausted from maintaining a constant vigil, slept in the next bed. 

          Seeing Ron in that condition left Hermione hysterical each time they brought her in. She spent much of the week partially sedated in the Gryffindor common room.

          Willow remained with Grey the entire time. The cuts and burns, some nasty but most superficial, would require several more days to heal properly, even with magical care. Madam Pomfrey had mended his skull, but he struggled with wooziness from the nasty concussion. After passing out when Jess ran from the hall, he had come awake on the second day. He had barely made a sound since then.

          "So I guess it's down to us," Harry said to Giles and Spike in the corner of the room. He was referring to the rapid fall of what Giles had come to think of as his Hogwarts team of Scoobies. "Are they really going to close Hogwarts?"

          "The Board of Governors is considering suspending school operations, yes," Giles responded honestly.

          "We can't let them."

          "I do not know how we might stop them, Harry. I seriously doubt we could prevent another attack. And with the string of attacks occurring simultaneously as they did, the Ministry lacks the resources to shore up our defenses."

          "Don't you see? That's what Voldemort wants. If we close Hogwarts, no one will be training young wizards. No one will have the knowledge or power to stand against him five years from now. Or ten years from now."

          "Even if that is the case, and frankly I rather agree it is, the Ministry seems to feel that the safety of students takes precedence."

          "When their actions makes them less safe later?" Harry was outraged. Giles gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

          "It's called politics, young man, and there's nothing we can do about it."

          "We need backup, Rupert," Spike said. Had he been alive, he would have been dying for a cigarette. The infirmary had strict rules, and he had been there for days. "What about the Slayer?"

          "We can not remove her from Sunnydale, Spike. Besides that, I doubt she would be much help against our current foe."

          "What about the other witch?"

          "Other witch?" Harry asked. Giles eyed Spike carefully.

          "She will not come."

          "Why the bloody hell not?!?" The vampire roared. Except for Willow, all heads turned to look at them. Giles shook his head and waved the onlookers away. He pulled Spike into the hall; Harry followed.

          "She will not come because she fears destabilizing Willow's training," he whispered harshly. Giles looked at Harry, realizing the boy had no idea what was being discussed. "Willow's ex … girlfriend is a powerful witch named Tara." Harry's eyes bugged. Willow was gay? "She specializes in defensive and healing magic. I invited her here as a safeguard against another outburst such as the one at Harry's house. Buffy and Dawn prevailed upon her, but she steadfastly refused." Spike pondered that.

          "This is different. We know the training has held. You didn't see her in there, Rupert. When the Jedi began dancin' with that cupcake, Willow almost lost it. But she didn't. She held it in. Then she held it in and didn't fry the cupcake when Grey let her go."

          "I'm not sure how we can communicate that to Tara."

          "We let the Jedi tell her, if he ever talks again."


	27. Help from Above

          The Board of Governors for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry met for an extended session in one of London's more expensive muggle hotels. The full board attended for the first time since the Chamber of Secrets incident years before. Included among the members were four newly elected governors; Lucius Malfoy despised all of the new candidates, but not equally. The two he loathed most, unfortunately, he could neither threaten nor bribe.

          The chairman called the meeting to order. He was a gnarled old man, mostly senile and firmly convinced that Malfoy knew how to run the school best. He turned the meeting over to the blonde man immediately.

          "As you all know, the assault and subsequent casualties represent a grievous breach of the trust we are given by each parent. I feel it is incumbent upon us…" Malfoy droned on for ten minutes. His prepared remarks argued strongly for closing the school, but the speaker knew they were merely pro forma. He dominated this board, despite the new additions. Hogwarts was certain to be closed, and Albus Dumbledore removed from the playing field. Just as his master demanded. When Malfoy finished speaking, he opened the floor. Two of the new arrivals began a vicious debate that lasted several wasted hours. 

          Across the room, one of the new men marveled at Malfoy's arrogance. He watched the debate impassively, knowing that it would not end how the Death Eater desired. He had been placed on the Board, along with his wife, despite the fact that his son had never attended Hogwarts. Both numbered among the most talented and deadly wizards to graduate from the academy, and either could have bested Malfoy without straining. They needed him if they were to get to Voldemort, however, so they forced themselves to be patient. After two hours of debate, the man tired of the game. He looked at his wife; her tiny, beautiful features told the story. She was tired too. He raised an eyebrow. She nodded, her gray hair bobbing around her shoulders. He could still see the cute teenager she had been when they met.

          "Lucius," he said pleasantly, "if I might have a word in private?"

          "Certainly, Robert," Malfoy said slowly. "Let's take ten minutes, shall we?" The two men walked into an adjoining room. Malfoy offered his arrogant sneer. "What is it now, old man?"

          The other man remained impassive, refusing to rise to the bait. He had no way of knowing that his son habitually wore an identical expression.

          "I just wished to inform you that you do not control this board any longer. I do."

          "Is that so?"

          "You can call for a vote and we can find out." Malfoy's stomach suddenly rolled over. The man in front of him was one of the few people on the planet he truly feared. He had never, in the many years Malfoy had known him, made an idle threat. Suddenly, he understood that the Board had someone who could protect its members from harm, and further, who understood the tactics Malfoy often employed. He felt naked and exposed. All of his planning might have come undone in thirty seconds. "Now, shall we proceed that way, or would you prefer not to lose face?"

          "You have no business talking to me in that manner."

          "Really?" 

          Malfoy's stomach flipped again. He felt like he often did in the presence of his master.

          "You do not dictate my actions!"

          "Correct. How would you like to act?" The silence stretched out between them.

          "What do you propose?" Malfoy asked finally, knowing his master would be greatly displeased. To do anything else, though, might reveal him as a Death Eater rather than an arrogant, annoying power monger. That would bring worse displeasure.

          "Send me, with my wife, on a fact finding mission. Say you will call another session to debate our recommendations. We will handle the rest." The other man knew it left Malfoy believing that his secrets were safe.

          "And the ultimate outcome?"

          "Hogwarts remains open and Dumbledore stays in place." Desperately, Malfoy's mind sought a way out. To no avail.

          "Very well."

The rest of the day did nothing to cheer Malfoy's spirits. Along with his son and wife, he had to waste an entire afternoon attending the funeral of Gregory Goyle, an idiot and a wastrel if ever there was one. He could see his son fighting back tears as the funeral service commenced. The little fool would pay for showing that kind of weakness in public. How could he not understand that the path to power made no allowances for such things?

Draco had never felt as small as he did in front of Goyle's grave. After the incident with Longbottom (and who knew what really had happened there), he had been berated and abandoned by most of Slytherin house. He became simple fodder for jokes and snickering by people like that vapid idiot Pansy Parkinson. Crabbe and Goyle, not understanding the fuss, had simply stuck by him. They were the only ones. Say what you might about their lowly intelligence, but they had been true friends.

And both of them were dead. Victims of that bitch.

He knew that she wasn't the only one responsible. Voldemort had ordered the series of attacks, including the special one at Hogwarts. Privy to the inside information of his household, he knew that his father had helped in the planning. In essence, his father had helped kill his only remaining friends. Anger welled up inside the younger Malfoy.

Draco had bandages wrapped tightly around his arm and leg that forced him to hobble. His father had beaten him twice, once for attacking Voldemort's chosen avatar, and again for allowing himself to be injured. As his fury brought the tears out, he knew they would engender another beating in the endless series. He wondered how many more it would take before he outright attacked his father.

"Draco, cease that ridiculous crying," Lucius Malfoy ordered in a harsh whisper. "When I get you home…"

"What?" Draco shouted, causing heads to turn. The threat, brought at such a vulnerable point, finally snapped him. "You'll kill my best friends? Beat the shit out of me? Too late for those to be original. You arrogant asshole! I've taken enough of your shit…"

Lucius cut him off with a hard right hand to the jaw. Draco went sprawling. Scrambling to his feet, the younger Malfoy drew his wand on his father. The crowd gasped as Lucius pulled his own. Draco's jaw burned, but he steeled himself to the task. Off to the right, his mother began uttering an odd keening sound.

"You've had this coming, boy. I'm tired of your weakness and your insolence." As he lifted his wand, two elderly men stepped in front of Draco.

"Lucius, I believe it would be best if you did not do that," Albus Dumbledore said. "I am quite sure that a funeral for one of my students is not the place to be assaulting another." The words were polite, but Dumbledore had his own wand out. The elder Malfoy froze.

"This is very upsetting, Lucius,"  Sir Robert Grey said. "I would hope that you would have more respect for the deceased than this. The board will be most disturbed. Of course, I will have to report it at the same time as I present the results of my fact finding mission."

          Malfoy froze. What the hell did he think he was doing? The little imbecile had made him angry enough to forget himself, and that endangered the larger plan. He couldn't very well hurt his own son in front of these moronic do-gooders.

          "Gentlemen," he said, regaining his composure, "you're absolutely correct. It has, you understand, been a very trying time. I never intended to hurt the boy, I assure you." He walked slowly towards his son, sliding his wand back into his robe. Dumbledore and Grey parted warily, each ready to attack Lucius at the slightest provocation. The blonde man leaned down to speak to his son in fatherly tone.

          "Draco, I'm terribly sorry. I overreacted. Can you forgive me?" His eyes burned. Draco knew the consequences of anything other than an affirmative answer. His stomach churned with fear.

          "Of course, father, I understand. I did the same. I would never pull my wand on you otherwise. Please forgive me as well." The icy Malfoy tone hid the fear in the boy's voice, but Robert Grey saw the fear and loathing in his eyes. 


	28. Life Goes On

          Five days after the attack, Hermione was back to normal. Ron was healing rapidly, and she knew he was coming back to the dorm today. She figured that, after a quick stop in the library for some soothing schoolwork, she could go up and help him come back without hysterics. She missed him terribly, but he had barred her from the infirmary rather than upset her.

          The brief lull in classes had ended; the professors clearly felt that an excess of homework would help the student body focus. As a result, they were drowning in tasks.

          Cracking open her History of Magic book, Hermione began to read about the Ministry of Magic and its creation. She missed Grey sitting down next to her.

          "Hermione?" His scratchy voice startled the girl. He clearly had not spoken much since his release two days earlier

          "Grey! Ohmygodyou'reokayandtalking!" She grabbed him in a hug. He hissed from the pain and she let go. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

          "It's okay," he said, his face contorted. When the pain subsided, he continued. "I have questions about your research with Giles."

          "You know about that?"

          "I do."

          "What do you want to know?"

          "Tell me about the change." He meant when evil wizards embraced their darkness, she realized.

          "Well, there's not a lot on that. It seems like a mild form of schizophrenia. The personality partially separates to accommodate the presence of the evil magic. The original person gets locked away." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out an abused notebook. Turning the pages and skimming, she quickly found her target. "Here. In Jackson's _Distortion, he says that a good person in that position isn't dead, but that they are scarred and darkened when dominated by the magic."_

          "Can it be reversed?"

          "This has to do with that woman, doesn't it?" She asked. No one really knew the extent of Grey's connection with her besides Willow, who would not say. He didn't respond. "Grey, I…"

          "Yes or no?"

          "Not without expunging her magic entirely," she said, her eyes downcast. "Then some of the authors think it's theoretically possible. The magic itself is completely tainted, but they hypothesize that the person isn't. It can't be known, though, because it can't be tested. No one knows how to do it without killing the wizard."

          "Will you look for a way?"

          "Grey …" she said. "I'll look. But you must understand, removing the magic might not fix her. She might be just as evil, but without magic."

          "Keep it secret," he said by way of a response, as he headed for the door.

          Hermione explained the conversation to Ron, Harry and Ginny afterwards. She reasoned that she would need their help anyway, so it wasn't really a breach of trust.

          "Who do you think she was?" Ron asked.

          "Did you see how they danced? I bet she was his girlfriend," Ginny said. Hermione was continually impressed with the younger girl's growing ability to understand people. She seemed to have a gift for it.

          "It's as good a guess as any," Hermione concurred. "If that's true, and we fix her, what happens with Willow?"

          "I don't think it's our place to worry about that," Harry said. "Besides, if we can remove this woman's magic, it takes a major weapon away from Voldemort." They all nodded at that logic. "Hermione, you're the head of the class. What can we do to help?"

          Hermione unrolled a scroll containing her preliminary research plan. Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

          "'Cor, 'Mione! That list is enormous."

          "That's why I used a scroll instead of my muggle notebooks that you tease me about," she retorted. "Harry, I want you to start here…"

          Willow found Grey alone in the library, chewing through a thick, dusty tome. The cover read _Distortion._

          "Researching fun, huh?"

          "Something like that," he said, nodding to her. She plunked down in the chair opposite him.

          "I used to be Scooby research girl, you know. I could help."

          "Thanks," he said sincerely, "but I can't ask you to. Not with this."

          "Looking for ways to cure Jess?"

          "How did you know?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

          "Factoid one, as Buffy would say: That's a dark magic book. Factoid Two: you hate reading books you don't like, a.k.a. researching. Factoid Three: You seem to know everything about most other stuff. Elementary."

          "I don't hate research. I just prefer other things."

          "You'd be good at it, if you did more of it. Your mind is good at adjusting plans and stuff on the fly."

          "Why are you really here, Willow? I know it isn't to discuss the pros and cons of me in the library." At least he hadn't run away yet, she thought. She fully expected him to in another minute.

          "We haven't talked since we danced."

          "What do you mean?" He gave her innocence, hoping to play dumb. "We've talked as much as I've talked to everyone else combined."

          "Which adds up to … hmm … ten sentences?" She frowned. "We need to Talk. Capital T." He pushed his chair out from the table.

          "Not interested. Not now. Sorry." He stood and grabbed the book.

          "Grey." Her voice carried an unfamiliar tone of command. "Sit down. We're going to talk now. See this?" She pointed to the scowl on her face. "Resolve face. Can't get it around it. You're stuck, buster."

          "Are you serious?"

          "I am, if you ever want to kiss me again." He sat. Her heart began to pound. She wasn't sure he would. "Good choice."

          "Your heart pounding?" She nodded. "Me too."

          "What's wrong with you? You're mister quiet guy again, which is fine, except not with me. It's against the rules."

          "There's this thing I need to tell you, Will. I haven't figured out how yet."

          "You called me Will."

          "So?"

          "You never did that before. I like it. Xander and Buffy do it. As for the rest, just say it. If you can't be honest with me, we have a serious problem."

          "It isn't an honesty issue," he said after a thoughtful delay. "It's a bluntness issue."

          "Unacceptable excuse," she said, shaking her head. "Say it."

          "It's bad."

          "I don't care." He looked at her and shook his head. She showed the resolve face again. He suddenly felt bad for Xander, who must have seen this infinitely over the years.

          "Fine. Here it is." He inhaled deeply. "The other night, when I danced with Jess, she offered to take me with her."

          "I'm not surprised," Willow said.

          "I thought hard about accepting." There it was. Plain as day. He waited for the inevitable tears and cursing.

          "I'm not surprised."

          "Huh?"

          "Remember how I told you about the night Oz came back, how hard I thought about leaving Tara for him?" Grey nodded. "What you had with Jess went way deeper than me and Oz. We were in love; you and Jess were in love for twice as long, you were always together, and you were about to be married. Yeah, okay, she tortured you, which is a negative, but you didn't stop loving her all of sudden. That's not possible. How could you not consider it? I've known you for two months. We aren't in love. We're looking at the possibility of something great, but with her it was already fully realized." 

She took his hand across the table. "I almost went wiggy dark magic girl when I saw you two dancing. Spike asked me if I trusted you. I do. You had something you needed to do. I settled down because I trusted you to make the right choices. You did nothing wrong."

"Nothing?"

"Well, the dance was a little showy. But you had to choose between us when the possibility was there. Otherwise? Not so much a real choice."

          "You're pretty much the most fabulous person I've ever met," he said. Jess would have thrown an enormous fit and not spoken to him for weeks. He felt completely relieved of his guilt cloud. "You have such a huge heart and brilliant mind."

          "And the body? How's the body?" She teased him, happy to put this out of his head. She had known he felt guilty about the dance when he shouldn't have.

          "Top-notch. First rate. At least, I think so. I haven't seen it all."

          "Would you like to?" They both grinned.


	29. Family Matters

          "My liege, I think…"

          "Not a good time, Cadogan," Grey said, his arm around Willow. He felt charged with the anticipation. "Cinnamon." The door opened.

          "You changed the password," she said.

          "Well, I felt the urge," he said, leaning in and smelling her hair. "Speaking of urges…"

          "Umm… Grey?" Her voice wavered.

          "What?" He kissed her neck.

          "Look up." He lifted his head from her skin. Albus Dumbledore and another man stood in front of his fireplace. The second man bit back his laughter before he spoke.

          "Hello, son."

          Grey went rigid beside her. He nodded, donning his impassive mask. Willow tensed in response. Something was very wrong here.

          "Your father is visiting on behalf of the Board of Governors, in order to ascertain the quality of our security," Dumbledore said. "He asked to speak with you about it personally." The last sentence came out almost apologetically; the elder Grey had informed him of their difficulties. Grey didn't respond. "Well, then, I suppose I'll take my leave. Miss Rosenberg, if you would follow me please." She looked at Grey.

          "Stay or go?" He knew she would defy Dumbledore in an instant. It warmed his heart.

          "Go ahead. I'll come by when this is through," he said through clenched teeth.

          "Of course," she said seriously, not knowing the extent of the problem. She whispered the rest. "Should I wait outside the door, in case?"

          "No. It won't be physical." She nodded and stepped away. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug, trying to draw her strength into himself. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Grey released her. She kissed his cheek and left with the wizard.

          Then they were alone.

          Sir Robert Grey had not changed at all. They could have been brothers, they looked so alike. His father had a fringe of gray hair and wore glasses, and his stomach had expanded a bit with age. Grey always felt that he looked like a country doctor, especially with his penchant for muggle sweaters and khaki pants, which he wore today. But you could still see his son's features and physical strength in the old man, as well as the toughness that had placed him among the finest aurors in the wizarding world.

          "She cares for you a lot. It's easy to see," he said. He always had simple speech in private, Grey remembered. "Is she Jewish?" Grey nodded. "Well, thank god for small favors."  

"We need to talk. If you pull this silent routine, we're going to have problems. I don't want to have to tell your mother we had problems. Do you?" That comment drew a smile, as it was intended to. Some of the tension broke. His mother was not to be trifled with. "I thought we should talk first, come to some sort of understanding, and then we could face her together."

          "Fine. Let's sit." They sunk into the chairs by the fireplace. His father ignited the logs with his wand. "Say it, then."

          "Why didn't you tell us?"

          "What could I say? I knew how you'd feel."

          "About which part, exactly?"

          "The quitting. Jess. Going after Voldemort alone."

          "You should have told us something. We could have helped you. Six months passes. We haven't heard a word. You disappear. Then, all of a sudden, we hear that our son's fiancee attacked the school and nearly filleted him. We didn't even know what country you were in." His father surprised him; the tone belied concern, not anger. "Did you really think we wouldn't help you?"

          "That wasn't it. About Voldemort, well, I thought we could take him. Jess thought so, too. I might have explained the quitting, but Jess was in a bad way and I had to stay with her. Then, when she lost it … I needed to heal alone." His voice caught on the last part.

          "Heal?"

          "I guess you wouldn't know." Sir Robert Grey, son and grandson of aurors, shook his head, not knowing what his son was alluding to. Grey stood up and removed his blue polo shirt. The newer wounds were distinct against his skin, but the grid of pink scars glistened behind them in the firelight. The elder Grey gasped, understanding flooding his brain.

          "My god…" He had no words. He felt something burst behind his eyes, and for the first time in years rejoiced that he had as much power as he did. He silently vowed that she would take a long time to die.

          "Dad, don't." Grey saw the anger. He knew how it felt. "She's too powerful now. If you go after her, she'll kill you. Besides, I'm trying to find a way to save her."

          "Save her? Are you insane? After that?" Grey said nothing, replacing his shirt. "For God's sake, why?"

          "I have to try. What if it was mom?" The words came out very softly, almost inaudibly. They both pondered that.

          "Okay," he said after a large breath. "I understand. I won't go after her. I promise." They stared at the fire in silence for nearly twenty minutes.

          "It wasn't her," Grey finally said. "It was the power. It seized her, took her prisoner and warped her mind. I have some people trying to figure out how to get rid of it."

          "Is that even possible?"

          "No idea. If it is, we'll find it."

          "You quit your job."

"I did," Grey said. "The way they cut Jess loose … it was too much."

"I thought Fudge handled that badly. Had you come to me, we might have been able to work something out." Grey shook his head.

"There was no time. She was a basket case. I couldn't leave her side. And look what happened - Fudge wasn't totally wrong, in the end. Just tactless and inconsiderate."

"Would you go back? I could have you reinstated."

"No." Before answering, his father considered what Albus had told him of his son's work here.

"I understand."

"You aren't mad?" Grey was surprised that he actually cared about the answer. He had decided to cut his family ties completely, to make his suicide mission simpler. Obviously, he had failed.

"Mad? Not really. I'm saddened that you didn't tell us, and that you didn't trust us enough. But I suppose that was our fault too." Two pairs of brown eyes met. "If you're amenable, how about a truce? You help me explain this to your mother, and I'll stop her from questioning your choices too much. And from now on, you don't hold back and neither do we. We'll need to help each other if we're to win." Grey pondered that for a long while. He would need their help against Jess and Voldemort, and part of him missed them terribly. In the end, it was an easy decision.

"Agreed." They shook hands, and it became a long hug.

"Now, can we get to business?"

"I sort of figured that was the business." Grey felt relieved, though he wasn't sure why. He also felt more like his old self than he had since Halloween.

Robert shook his head.

"No. Two items of real business. The first is the security here. Answer me honestly: is it safe?" Grey thought hard. He couldn't fool his father on this issue.

"No. Not yet. Almost. Giles is bringing some reinforcements from the States, though I don't know the details. That will help. We didn't take very much damage, relatively speaking, but even one casualty is too many. We need to understand how she did some of what she did. Immobilizing Dumbledore is particularly troubling." The elder Grey nodded. "Other than that, the basic problem is size. You'd need the 82nd Airborne and the British First Armored to defend every inch." He explained carefully the measures they had in place, and by the end his father was nodding some more.

"That makes sense." 

"I think so."

"Indeed." He thought about all that his son had said, amazed at the man he saw in front of him. He felt old, seeing his son's ability, and also quite proud. "You make a strong case. I also agree strongly with your view that closing Hogwarts puts us at a serious long-term disadvantage. I believe that is why Lucius and his master worked so hard for it."

"Actually, I hadn't thought of it. Harry Potter brought it up."

"Is he in this group that helps you?"

"With his friends."

"That's a stroke of luck."

"Malfoy's master?"

"Voldemort."

"Malfoy's a Death Eater?"

"One of the top ones. His son, though, is something else." The elder Grey explained about Goyle's funeral.

"Interesting."

"It is that. I hope you'll help him come over to our side. I understand from Dumbledore that he's quite talented." Grey decided he would have to discuss that with Harry and company first.

"So will you close the school?"

"No. I trust you to tell me if I must. Should you need further reinforcement, ask me directly." Grey nodded. "On to the second piece of business." He reached over to a satchel on the ground and removed a two-foot long black box. "I never told you much about my father, did I?"

Grey was stunned. His grandfather had always been a forbidden topic at home. "Never."

"He and I had many disagreements, the foremost of which was your mother. Sound familiar?" Grey smiled. They had never warmed to Jess. "It led to a rather serious estrangement. I drew my wand on him once, after some particularly heated words." Grey realized his own disappearance must have brought back painful memories of that. Ashamed of his selfishness, he swore silently not to repeat the error. "He was, however, one of the most successful aurors who ever lived."

"I knew that." Grey had read about him extensively while studying for his position.

"Did you know that he was a squib?" Grey's head almost exploded in shock. The books never mentioned that. "It embarrassed the Ministry that none of their wizards were as talented as he was. They altered many of the public accounts to fudge that point over."

"Wow. I suppose that makes twisted sense. Assholes."

"Yes, well, I quite agree." The elder Grey's face took on a wistful look. "He died before you were born. Before he did, he left this with me. He said a friend told him my son would need it." Robert passed the black box to his son, as he had promised to do almost twenty-five years before. He remembered his father's face and the unrestrained animosity that once flowed between them. He also remembered the look of pride in the old man's eyes when he relinquished the box to the grandson he would never know. 

"You had best be careful with it. Those are both deadly and illegal. I couldn't very well have given it to you while you worked for the Ministry. I doubt it will be an issue now, though, and if it is, I will handle it."

Grey opened the package. Wrapped in velvet was his grandfather's lightsaber.


	30. Objects of Emotion

          Giles stopped Grey on his way to Willow's. The auror had the box in his hand. He had just finished a tearful reunion with his mother. They had pointedly avoided mentioning his scars, but otherwise it had gone well.

          "Grey, I'm glad I caught you. Might I have a word?"

          "Sure."

          "I have been meaning to speak with you and Willow. Are you headed there now?" Grey nodded. "Perhaps I might join you?" He nodded again and they walked to Willow's door. A painting of an elderly English woman covered the door. Though he knew the password, Grey knocked to avoid disturbing Willow. She came to the door and invited both men to enter.

          "What's up, guys?" She asked, sitting down on her bed. Grey and Giles each took a chair opposite her.

          "I rather hoped I might speak with you about a difficult subject," Giles began. "We need help here. That woman who attacked on Halloween had more power than any of us. If not for Grey, I fear we might have been killed very easily. I must know who she is."

          Grey and Willow looked at each other.

          "He has to know, Grey. We can't prepare for what she might do otherwise. And Giles is the king of research," Willow said. "If anyone can find what you're looking for, it's him." Grey nodded.

          "Giles, promise me this stays between us." The Watcher agreed. "Her name is Jess O'Brien…" The story, including the dance at Halloween, took nearly an hour. At the end, Giles' face reflected pity and sadness. 

          "I can see why you were so perturbed by Willow," he said. "I feared it might be something such as that. Her power is overwhelming. Willow, we cannot train you to effectively counter her. It would take years, and none of us has the dark magic expertise that Voldemort does."

          "I know," she said, instantly deciding to hide her belief that she had the greater power. "We have to try, though, Giles."

          "Of course, my dear. For your own sake, if nothing else." The Watcher mentally replayed what he had heard. "From what Willow said earlier, I gather you are the one responsible for usurping my research team?"

          Willow said "Research team?" at the same as Grey said "Yes." The auror glanced sideways at her.

          "You didn't know Giles had Hermione and the kids doing research?" Grey asked. Willow shook her head. She wondered what they had been researching. Probably her, she figured.

          "What are they looking for, specifically?"

          "A way to cure Jess. The most promising lead centers around removing her magic completely." Giles removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

          "That would be a dangerous exercise for everyone involved. I don't believe she would live through it."

          "That's what Hermione said. She's checking," Grey confirmed.

          "Yes, well, I will of course assist her. That seems more of a long-term solution, however. I wanted to propose a more immediate one to you, Willow. I suspect you would rather Grey leave the room before I tell you." 

          Willow looked hard at Giles. She had known the man for almost seven years. She knew he would suggest something that would cause them great difficulty, and she suspected its nature.

          "Grey, please?" He stared at her, as if memorizing her face.

          "Of course. I'll be outside." He left, closing the door tightly behind him.

          "He's quite a good man," Giles said, astonished that the auror had put up no fight about leaving. He clearly trusted Willow's judgment. "You're very lucky."

          "I know," she said thoughtfully. "I've been very lucky three times now. Four, if you count Xander."

          "I assure you, my dear, it is not undeserved." She beamed.

          "Glad you approve, Giles. Now, what's the hot and heavy?" Giles took a deep breath.

          "When the incident at Harry's occurred. I sent a letter to Tara." Willow paled, her suspicions confirmed. "I wanted her to come and help with your training."

          "And be here in case I totally wigged." Willow's voice would have been drowned out by a light breeze. 

          "Yes," Giles admitted. "But you did not. And she refused, at any rate. I had Buffy and Dawn attempt to convince her, but both failed." Willow nodded. Tara would be afraid that she would ignite Willow's fury. "Fortunately, we are now at a point where I do not believe, at least for the time being, that Tara is necessary for that reason. You have done admirably; both the wand and your association with Grey have allowed you to acquit yourself well. I am quite proud of you for that, you know."

          "Thanks, Giles," she said.

          "However, I do believe we now require Tara's services for another purpose; specifically, to counter the power of this dark sorceress. You and Tara are a combined force greater than she."

          "She'll never come," Willow said, her emotion on the verge of exploding. "She won't believe me and she'll know about things with Grey and worry about screwing them up. Besides that, I think she hates me …" She burst into tears. Giles moved to the bed and put an arm around her shoulders.

          "She does not hate you, Willow. I rather think the reason she refused to join us was that she feared losing you altogether. She still cares about you a great deal. If she does come, however, it could cause a problem between you and Mr. Grey."

          Willow cried harder, thinking of how painful that choice would be. Would Tara take her all the way back? Did she want her to? Giles interrupted her tears with a dose of reality.

          "The truth is, Willow, and I believe Grey will say the same thing, the safety of the students outweighs the personal problems this may cause for the two of you. We need Tara." As she heard it, Willow felt in her heart that he was right. She finished crying and wiped the tears away. 

          "H-how will we convince her?" Willow sniffled. Pride coursed through Giles. He could always count on his students to make the correct choices over the easy ones.

          "Spike had an interesting idea on that front."

          "Spike?"

          "He suggested we allow Grey to ask her."

          Giles was long gone. Grey had returned, hardly surprised to find Willow crying. They explained Giles' idea, and Grey agreed that the awkwardness could not be allowed to interfere with protecting the children. In his own heart, he began to prepare himself for Willow's inevitable return to Tara. The process would be painful, but he reminded himself that since Jess had left, he had been a creature of pain. After surviving that, he could survive anything.

          The voice in the back of his head mocked him for his foolishness.

          "Are you sure you want this?" Grey finally asked her when they were alone. He knew the pain it would cause her. She shifted in his arms, her cotton shirt softly rasping against his sweatshirt. He was lying on her right, with his right arm across her.

          "Yes," she said firmly. "But I won't force you to go to her."

          "I'll do it," he agreed. "This is larger than us." They went silent for a short time before he spoke again. "If things … if she wants you back … you love her. I won't stand in the way. I'll always be your friend, no matter what." She could feel his tears on the back of her neck.

          "While Giles explained this to you, I thought about it." She twisted and faced him. "Part of me will always love Tara, and I desperately want to be friends with her. But she left when I lost control, and now I feel like true love would never abide that. I'll always wonder if she would leave again. With you, it's so different. You didn't leave; you never would. No matter what you had to do to bring me under control, you wouldn't abandon me." 

She kissed his cheek softly, tasting salty tears. Large green eyes reached out and seized brown ones. "I know, because I saw you with Jess. She tortured you twice, the second time just to kill you slower. But you didn't hesitate to tell Giles that you wanted to cure her. You haven't been out of the hospital for a week, and the rescue is on. That's something beyond unbelievable. It's almost impossible. I need it. I need you." They kissed tenderly, tears intermingling, and held each other. Grey had never been so happy. In his euphoria, he completely missed her implication about true love.

Hours later, they were still lying in Willow's bed fully clothed, their earlier hunger for each other tempered by the day's intense emotions. He had explained about his conversations with his father and mother. 

          "Thank you," she whispered. He knew she meant for Tara, and for everything else.

          "Anything for you."

          "This will be hard."

          "Probably. I'll just do the silent routine and not tell her anything about why I'm there." Willow giggled. She burrowed in closer to his chest. He felt so safe and warm that she never wanted to leave.

          "Hey, I want to know something."

          "What?"

          "What's in that box? The one you brought here?"

          "Oh!" He said. "With all the plotting and heavy thoughts, I forgot to show you." He was suddenly giddy. She had never seen that before. It looked good on him. He reached over and lifted it off her nightstand; they sat up, stiff from the reclining, and he set it between them.

          "My father brought this. It belonged to my grandfather." He opened the box, revealing the silver cylinder. She gasped. "A friend of his told him that I would need it one day."

          "Grey, it's so beautiful." She looked at him and, receiving his affirmation, reached in and lifted it from the case. The metal was worn and scratched, with handgrips carved along its length. It was a thing of deadly precision, well used and immaculately kept.

          "An elegant weapon, from a more civilized age," he quoted. He saw a hint of brown under the dark velvet and reached into the box. His hand came out holding a leather loop.

          "What's that?" She asked.

          "Must be a holster for it." He stretched it out, taking in the blood and sweat stains that were his grandfather's. It had two sections, and a buckle to adjust the size.

          "Put it on," she said. He removed his sweatshirt and slid it on over his t-shirt. It took a minute to decide where his head went, but he eventually figured it out. She reached up and adjusted the buckle. A looped portion hung off his right hip. She handed him the lightsaber and he slid it in. He replaced his sweatshirt and stepped away.

          "Well?" It looked so perfect, she almost couldn't find the words. She knew, somehow, that he was meant to wear it.

          "You look so right like that," she said simply.

          "I'm not worthy of it. My grandfather … my father, even … so talented. True heroes. I'm just a guy with no magic."

          "Speaking as an ex-muggle, and therefore accustomed to people with no magic, I think you're fantastic," she said. "It's kind of funny, in a way."

          "What?"

          "Well, Spike has been calling you 'Jedi' since Halloween. I guess he's right." She slid of the bed and put her arms around his waist. "I think you should take it off now, though." She kissed him deeply.

          "Why?"

          "Because," she said, kissing his throat, "it'll seriously chafe after I pull off the rest of your clothes."


	31. This is just a test

          Willow, Harry, and Neville joined Grey's first post-Halloween training session. His parents had departed after an overnight stay. They surprised him by swiftly taking to Willow, especially his mother, who called her 'that darling pixie' and demanded that the couple have dinner with them in London.

          Spending the night with Willow had been a revelation. He could never recall feeling as alive and content as he did with her, especially after what she had said about Tara. They didn't discuss it, but he could see a similar feeling in her eyes.

          Rather than watch the demonstration, Hermione opted to spend quality time with Ron, who had decided the thing that would speed his healing most was kissing her. Willow, in a serious breach of school rules that made both women blush, had secretly offered Hermione the privacy of her room. Ginny had too much homework to join the training group.

          Grey spent fifteen minutes warming up, then segued into a light serious of combinations and katas. His chest felt tight from the damage, but he could move with minimal pain. He had to adjust his balance for the weight of the lightsaber, which changed his equilibrium somewhat. The other three watched with interest.

          "I wish I could do that," Neville said. They were standing at the edge of the roof to give Grey room.

          "I bet he would teach you, if you asked," Willow said. "He'd like that. He thinks you've got a lot of potential." Neville looked at her as if she had declared that the Sun revolved around the Earth. "What? He does."

          "Nobody thinks that," Neville said, shaking his head sadly. "I'm just a scared klutz who forgets things, remember?"

          "You used to be, Neville," Harry said seriously. "It's been way better this year. Even Snape has mostly left you alone. Plus, on Halloween, you came up with the idea to gang up on that woman, remember?"

          "I was really scared," he said. "Shaking."

          "Big deal. Happens to everybody," Willow said. "My friend Buffy? The Slayer? She even gets that sometimes, after a fearsome nasty comes a'chompin'." She smiled at him. "It's not that you're scared that matters. It's whether you can do something anyway."

          "Maybe." Neville looked doubtful. 

          Grey motioned for them to come over. He was breathing evenly, but his head had a light sheen of sweat. Willow wondered why she had taken so long to understand how attractive bald men were.

          "Okay. You guys ready?" He had given Harry and Neville instructions earlier.

          "Sure," Harry said. "Where do you want us?" Grey positioned them fifteen feet away and ten feet apart, across the open roof.

          "Okay, one at a time to start with. Use stuff that you know the counter curses for." They nodded. He stepped back and flicked the lightsaber into his hand. It was a natural fit. He thumbed the ignition.

          _Snap-hiss._

          It sounded just like the movies. The extended blade glowed, a four-foot length of iridescent blue that emitted a soft buzzing sound.

          "Well, it's the right color, at least," Willow said. His preference for blue clothing amused her, but she had never asked about it.

          "It had to be blue," he said. "I wear that because all the books said my grandfather did. It always felt right. Now we know why." He pointed to Harry. "You first."

          "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" He cried. The curse shot from the wand, straight at Grey. The blade moved of its own accord, blocking the curse. It sizzled and vanished on contact. Neville followed with a leg-locker curse. The lightsaber blocked that as well.

          "Both of you now," Grey said. They flung the curses simultaneously. Grey whirled around, the blade dancing through the air, and blocked both. They continued hurling them for ten minutes, Grey stopping each one in turn. Willow tossed one from the far side, surprising them all. Grey deftly spun and intercepted it. Then he called a halt.

          "That was unexpected," he said to her. There seemed to be no criticism in his voice.

          "Are you doing the blocking, or is it?" she asked. She had tossed the curse to see, but still wasn't sure.

          "Both," he said. "It's weird. I can't describe it. It tells me where to go, but I actually go without thinking about it. It must be part of the enchantment."

          "Use the force, Luke," Harry deadpanned. Grey and Willow laughed. Neville looked puzzled.


	32. Road Trip I: Jaws of the Hellmouth

Author's Note: First, another serious thanks to all the reviewers. I'm having fun, and it appears you are, too. Always dangerous. Wackiness can ensue. But for real, thanks to all of you. Acknowledgement makes me giddy. And, in case you're wondering, we're not even close to done. I'm churning 'em out as fast possible though.

          Second, my confession: I love my chapter titles and hate my story title. I didn't realize I needed one until the story was up, and just came up with generic garbage. Ditto the Summary, but I can live with it. Sadly, I'm completely stumped, still, after 35 chapters. I flirted with the idea of calling it 'Shades of Grey' but don't like that much. I would be much obliged if someone would just think up something brilliant and send it my way in a review or email. Even less brilliant but still workable titles are appreciated. Much thanks offered. 40

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          "You're sure about this?"

          "For the last time, Willow. I can handle it. I'm sure the bloodshed will be minimal." He kissed her hard on the mouth. "If I haven't changed my mind in two days, I won't now."

          "Okay. Just be careful. And …"

          "What?" She stopped, her face halfway between concern and laughter.

          "Xander and Buffy will probably threaten you. Show Xander your lightsaber. And tell Buffy that I said that yours are good arms to have."

          "Huh?"

          "Xander will be distracted. And Buffy, well, it's kind of a code. She'll know what I mean." Completely confused, he simply nodded. "Be careful." She kissed him again.

          Across the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Giles were discussing the trip.

          "I appreciate you going along, Harry. I don't think there will be any danger, but in Sunnydale, you never know. You must be cautious."

          "I will, Professor Giles," Harry replied. He had learned the details of defending himself from vampires earlier in the semester, and Professor McGonagall had taught him some basic combat magic spells that utilized fire. He was going along because Grey could not use the floo system alone and Willow could not be involved.

          "See that you do." Giles had asked Dumbledore to temporarily attach the fireplace at Buffy's house to the floo network. She had agreed earlier to bring Tara to the house for the impromptu conference. Xander and Dawn would be around as well, 'just in case,' according to Buffy. Giles knew it was to evaluate Grey.

          Grey pulled away from Willow and motioned for Harry. The two of them climbed into the fireplace, Grey's hand on Harry's shoulder. With his other hand, he checked to make sure that he still had the packet from Collin Creavey.

          "Good luck, gentlemen," Giles said solemnly. They nodded. Harry tossed down the floo powder, said the words, and they were gone.

          The Slayer's living room looked like any other American muggle living room. Grey and Harry stepped out from the fireplace to see a group of three standing in front of a large picture window.

          "Hi, I'm Dawn," said a girl slightly older than Harry. She came up and shook their hands. She had straight brown hair, enormous eyes, and from the look Grey saw on Harry's face, beauty that carried great weight with young men. "That's Buffy," she pointed to a small blonde woman, "and Xander," and a dark-haired man. Both were Grey's age. Both wore a serious scowl.

          "Nice to meet you," Buffy said, shaking their hands. "You're Grey, right?"

          "Uh-huh."

          "And you must be Harry," Buffy smiled at him. Xander introduced himself as well, and the five of them stood uncomfortably for a few moments.

          "Umm… not to be rude," Harry said finally, "but aren't we supposed to meet Willow's friend Tara?"

          "We have sort of a problem there," Buffy said. "Here's the thing…"

          "So she's simply vanished," Grey said after hearing of their exhaustive search. He had to admit that it sounded thorough. They knew their business.

          "Pretty much. And this being the Hellmouth, the usual suspects come in many unpleasant varieties," Xander said. He had been staring at the lightsaber. "Say, is that thing … y'know, real?"

          "Oh please, Xander. How could it be real?" Buffy said.

          Grey chuckled.

          "What?" she said.

          "I get it now. The scowling. Besides Tara, I mean. You saw a man appear in your living room, purporting to be your best friend's boyfriend, and you think he's wearing a toy lightsaber. That would be something to scowl about."

          "Well … yeah," she said. "Kind of."

          "It's real." He drew it as proof.

          "Whoa!" Xander said. Buffy's eyes went wide.

          "I used to be an auror," he said. He explained the auror/Jedi connection. They visibly relaxed.

          "That is so cool," he said. "Say, Willow wrote me and said that you have a room full of toys. Do you have any of the…" Buffy cut him off.

          "Not now, Xander. We need to focus. Find Tara, remember?"

          "Umm, yeah, of course. Mortal danger first, toys later. What do you think, a trip to Willy's?"

          "It's our best bet, probably."

          "Would someone take her? Ask for ransom?" Grey asked.

          "Could be. But the problem here is, they could have taken her as a sacrifice or something lame like that, which would mean no ransom."

          "She's powerful, though, right?" Harry asked. "So whatever took her …"

          "Is probably pretty bad ass," Dawn finished. Buffy considered that. Tara would be a bad choice for a random sacrifice. Demons knew she was part of the Slayer's inner circle. If so, they probably would hear something soon, and she needed to be around for that.

          "Okay. Xander, you go to Willy's. When you get back, I'll patrol. Dawn, Harry, you guys stay with whoever's here in case something happens. We'll call for backup if we need it. You have your cell phone, right Xand?" He nodded. "Grey, can you back Xander up? Willy's can be icky and not of the fun, depending on who's there."

          "Okay," Xander was saying, "I do this all the time. When we get in there, just play it real cool."

          "It's a demon bar, right?" They were in the 'Xandermobile,' cruising the streets of Sunnydale. Grey could see the signs of demon activity everywhere in the small town. He much preferred Hogwarts, or even London. Sunnydale struck him as a place he never would have ventured without Jess, back when they were aurors. He thought of Willow growing up here and cringed inwardly.

          "Well, yeah."

          "This Willy, demon or human?"

          "Human."

          "Can we hurt him?"

          "Buffy can. I'd like to. Does that count?" Grey grinned. "So, you and Wills, you're pretty much … what? I definitely heard the word boyfriend."

          Grey considered the question for a moment.

          "I would say that we're dating, yeah. She's really special."

          "She is that," Xander agreed. "She's my best friend, has been for my whole life. I know you have the lightsaber and all. Do I have to bother with the threats? 'Cuz I'd rather not lose an arm."

          "I understand. You know about the message Buffy sent, right?" Xander nodded. "I got it. It was unnecessary, but I would have probably done the same thing. I didn't tell Willow about it." Normally, Grey might not have offered so much, but making a good impression on these people felt very necessary.

          "Good. She would have been upset. Willow-yelling? Not fun."

          "So I gather." 

          Xander pulled into a parking lot in front of a dingy bar.

          "Here we are. Let's make with the informant squeezing." They slid out of the car and walked in. It could have been a smoky bar in any city in the world, except for the abundance of unnatural colorations and horns. When they entered, several patrons growled. Grey guessed they could smell the humanity. He walked up to Willy, who busied himself polishing glasses behind the bar while waiting for an order. The man, white and seedy-looking, turned to the new customers before he saw who they were.

          "I'd like to know where I can find a pilot who can get me to Alderaan," he said to the bartender with a rare burst of panache. Jess would have been proud, he thought irrelevantly. Willy looked perplexed. Xander laughed.

          "Actually, Willy, we're all set for flying arrangements," Xander said, "but we need some information before my Jedi friend here gets testy."

          "Are you guys serious?" The barkeep's voice bordered on panic. "I told the Slayer: I'm not in that business no more. She shouldn't keep sending her people to talk to me. I'm just trying to make an honest wage."

          "Can I cut his arm off?" Grey snarled suddenly.

          "Hey hey hey…" Willy said, backing up. "You can't threaten me like that. My patrons might get upset."

          "Yeah, right Willy. Which of your fun bunch cares about you at all?" Xander asked haughtily.

          "Them," Willy said, pointing. Xander and Grey turned around and came face to face with two burly vampires. Without even thinking, Grey drew the sword; a _snap-hiss and two sharp strokes separated their heads from their torsos. Other patrons raced for the exit before the dust hit the floor._

          "See," Xander said as he turned around and struggled not to gape, "you made him testy. And we haven't even asked a question yet." The bar was emptying swiftly as Grey watched the crowd.

          "W-what do you want to know?"

          "Blonde witch named Tara. Friend of mine and the Slayer's. She's missing. Probably something big and bad and you know about it."

          "S-sorry. I d-don't…" Grey spun around. The bar behind him sat completely vacant. He glared at Willy, who wilted. "Okay, look, I don't know anything specific."

          "But you know something generic," Xander said. Grey liked this guy. He knew he was a normal human and did this work anyway. Just like Grey himself.

          "M-maybe. See, the thing is," Willy leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I heard Drusilla is back in town."

          "And?" Despite a serious effort, Xander could feel himself go slightly pale.

          "She's mad that Spike is gone, and about him and the Slayer. She blames the Slayer, though, not Spike. That's all I know. I swear."

          "Are you sure?" Grey said.

          "I heard she might be using my buddy Angel's mansion. That's all. I don't know if she has your friend. If I did, I would say so."

          "Willy, we'll be back if this turns out to be a trap. With Buffy. Understand?" The bartender nodded, terrified at the prospect of an angry Slayer. Xander turned to Grey. "She'll have Tara there. Let's go."


	33. Road Trip II: Rescue

          "Great," Buffy said, pacing back and forth in her living room. "Drusilla."

          "Who's Drusilla?" Harry asked. Grey had gotten the long version from Xander in the car.

          "Do you know Spike?" He nodded. "They were together for about a century. Then, after they got here, things got complicated and they broke up. Every so often, she comes back for him. She's a vampire who can do some magic as well. She killed a friend of mine, a Slayer."

          "I thought there could only be one Slayer," Harry said.

          "I died and Xander brought me back. But it caused a second one to be called."

          "Whoa," he said. "So what do we do?"

          Buffy looked at Xander.

          "Saddle up?"

          "I call axe."

          They brought Harry and Dawn. Grey vouched that Harry had faced far worse alone, and Dawn refused to be left behind. Xander, per his request, carried a large axe. Dawn had a squirt gun full of holy water, a short sword, and a bandoleer of stakes. Buffy carried only stakes.

          They parked the Xandermobile six blocks from the mansion, and engaged in what Dawn called 'the whole sneaky thing' in order to maintain the element of surprise. Grey and Buffy ended up next to each other, leading the incursion.

          "I got your message," Grey said.

          "Good. Don't think I won't beat you up if you hurt her." The threat sounded funny coming from such a small girl, but he knew she could.

          "Spike did a fairly good job as a substitute."

          "What?" She stopped short. "What did he do?"

          "Kicked the crap out of me."

          "Stupid vampire," she shook her head. "I told him to threaten you, not attack you." She didn't seem especially angry to Grey.

          "I think he was trying to win points for zeal. What is it you guys say? No big?" Buffy laughed as they moved on.

          "That's it. How's Willow doing, though? Really."

          "She's doing well. Her control has come really far in such a short time. The amazing thing is, she has more than power. She has aptitude. Those two things aren't always combined."

          "So she gets it, is what you're saying."

          "Yeah."

          "And you like her?" He laughed softly.

          "Very much. More than I thought I could like anyone a few months ago. She wanted me to give you a message, actually."

          "What's that?"

          "This is going to sound weird, but she said it was code. She said mine are good arms to have."

          Buffy almost burst out laughing. She patted Grey on the shoulder.

          "It means she really likes you, and that you're very, very nice." His heart began to beat faster. He had known it, of course, but still… "This is the house."

          The mansion was enormous, white stone and ivy everywhere. When they paused, he could hear noise. The other three came up from behind and joined Buffy and Grey.

          "What now?" Dawn asked.

          "Garden," Xander suggested. She and Buffy nodded. Buffy explained to the other two what he meant. They readily agreed, and snuck around to the back. From the shadows, they could see Tara tied to a post. Drusilla stood several feet away, speaking to a blindfolded doll. Several minions stood in a semi-circle near the entrance to the house.

          "Miss Edith," Drusilla was saying, "are you going to be a good girl? Mummy will let you watch, but only if you're good."

          Grey gave Buffy an alarmed glance. The Slayer spun a finger in a circle beside her head. He nodded.

          "What did you say, dear? Oh, the nasty Slayer is here to spoil my fun. We'll just have to do what Daddy couldn't, won't we?" The vampiress cast her cold glance on their hiding spot. From behind the party came several growls. They slowly turned. Several minions had flanked them. Drusilla pranced over to Tara and put her hand to the blonde's throat.

          "Come out here, dearies. Drusilla would like to speak with you before dinner," she said. The minions roughly shoved the group into the garden and surrounded them. Grey counted eight, plus Drusilla. "Now, Slayer, we're going to have a talk about my Spike."

          As she answered, Buffy shifted position to put Dawn and Harry in the middle of the group. Grey did likewise on his side. Glancing around, he quickly grasped that he could not use his lightsaber without endangering them.

          "He's hardly your Spike, you psycho loony. Actually, I sort of think he's become my Spike." Buffy's voice dripped with contempt. Drusilla growled, bringing out her game face.

          "You poisoned him. Once you're dead, he will be mine again."

          "You hurt us, and he'll dust you before you can blink. This wouldn't have even happened if you weren't a total ho. And you know what else…" Mid-sentence, Buffy launched herself at Drusilla, knocking her away from Tara. Dawn spun in a circle, dousing several vamps with holy water. Xander tackled another one, breaking open the circle and allowing Harry to step out of the siege and into the shadows. He readied a curse and waited for a clear shot.

          Grey, moving sharply to his left, stepped between the vampires and Tara. Two vamps advanced on him; unable to draw the lightsaber, he settled for engaging the two hand-to-hand. He sent one sprawling with an elbow-jab-jab combination, then kicked the other in the groin. The second one fell to his knees; Grey grabbed his head with both hands and twisted, dusting him instantly.

          "INCENDO!" As afraid as Harry was, the energy poured forth from him and created a fireball three feet wide. Two of the minions burned immediately, freeing Xander and Dawn from the circle. One of the younger vamps charged Xander, who introduced his axe to the monster's neck. Another lunged for Dawn, knocking her down; she screamed wildly as he leaned in for the bite, his fetid breath hot on her neck. 

          Heedless of his own safety, Harry launched himself from the shadows and into Dawn's attacker. The two of them rolled over once, and Harry felt a shock to his wand hand. Suddenly, he was covered in dust. Mr. Ollivander's handiwork, it appeared, also made a fine stake.

          Buffy rolled off Drusilla and clipped the side of her head with a vicious back fist. Her head thudded into the ground. Buffy followed up with vicious punches to her throat and face. In return, Drusilla reached up and yanked Buffy off of her by the hair. They rolled over and came to their feet.

          Dawn sent a burst of water into Drusilla's face, eliciting a hiss from her dissolving skin. Buffy moved in behind the artillery with a hard right hand to Drusilla's jaw. The left hand followed it, then Buffy topped it off with a powerful kick to the stomach. Drusilla made a 'woof' sound as the kick drove unneeded breath from her lungs; she fell straight back onto the bench that held Miss Edith. Dawn sprayed another blast; the vampiress screeched and came to her feet. She grabbed for her doll and ran screaming into the mansion. Buffy took off after her.

          Xander and Grey tag-teamed the remaining vampires, pinning the fiends and beheading them with the axe, and the garden was suddenly empty except for the Scoobies and company.

          A minute later, Buffy returned. Drusilla had escaped. Harry and Xander slumped to the ground, exhausted. Dawn hugged Harry tightly, causing him to glow bright red from embarrassment. Carefully using the lightsaber, Grey cut Tara loose. He removed her gag by hand.

          "Th-th-thanks," she stuttered, obviously relieved but still grappling with her complete terror. "Y-y-y-you m-m-must be Grey."

          Drusilla sat in the ruins of the factory, alternately wailing and screaming at Miss Edith. A man in a dark robe walked out from the shadows an hour after her arrival.

          "Look, Miss Edith. A treat for mummy!" Her usual child-like glee returned at the prospect of a meal.

          "Actually, ma'am," said a deep British voice, "I think it might be best if you listened to my proposal first. Tell me, when were you last in England?"


	34. Road Trip III: The Long Night

          Giles and Willow left a dozen messages for Buffy over the course of the evening, wondering what had occurred and then demanding to be informed if everyone was safe. As the group walked in the front door, the phone rang for the thirteenth time. Dawn answered it.

          "Hello?"

          "Hello?"

          "Giles. Hey."

          "Dawn, is everything alright? We've been leaving messages quite frequently. We expected Harry and Grey to return hours ago."

          "No big, Giles. Slight misplacement of Tara and a tea party with Drusilla. It's handled."

          "Drusilla! Dawn, what has happened there?" She could hear Willow shouting in the background.

          "Told you, everyone's fine. Drusilla was on her 'my Spike' riff for the year. She grabbed Tara as bait. We didn't bag her, but we got eight others. I hosed her with holy water."

          "Everyone is well, then?" Though still alarmed, he seemed slightly relieved.

          "Totally. Plus, Harry? Saved my life. Way cool wand-staking. And tell Willow her boyfriend is a total bad-ass."

          "Might I speak with your sister, then?"

          Buffy got on the phone and explained again. Giles and Willow finally accepted it, then suggested that Grey and Harry stay the night in Sunnydale. Buffy asked and, thoroughly exhausted by the ordeal, they readily agreed. Before ending the call, Buffy put Grey on and he assured Willow that all was well. Once that was finished, the six of them stood in the living room together. Grey spoke first.

          "Tara, listen, we have a lot to discuss." The witch nodded. "How about this? Xander can drive you home. In the morning, you and I can go out for breakfast and talk. Would that be okay?"

          "That would be fine," she said. After the rescue, Tara had been very quiet. Xander gave her his coat and said his good-byes, promising to return in the morning. The two of them left, and Harry and Grey were alone with Buffy and Dawn. Buffy gave Grey her mother's room and set Harry up on the couch, then left for a late-night patrol.

          Harry couldn't sleep. He hadn't slept well since Halloween, in fact. Hoping to quiet his mind, he walked out to the front porch of the Summers home and leaned against the railing in the cool night air.

He kept picturing the moment behind the table, right before they attacked. The others had automatically looked to him for help, as they always did. But he had been completely flummoxed; if not for Neville, they might have remained behind cover while everyone died. They would never look to Neville, though, only to him. How was he supposed to have the answers? All he had done to earn that responsibility was to not die a few times. Hardly qualification of the highest order.

In his reverie, he completely failed to detect Buffy's presence on the porch.

"Hey," she said, startling him.

"Oh, hi."

"Not the safest town to be standing around outside at night," she said with a smile. "Bad things live in the Sunnydale night."

"Guess I wasn't thinking," he said distractedly.

"Or paying attention. I wasn't even trying to sneak up on you." Buffy looked him over. "Something wrong? You look all big thought-having."

"It's nothing, really." She leaned on the porch rail next to him.

"Willow tells me you're a famous big-shot in the wizard world. Is it something to do with that?"

"You know what I did to get famous?" Buffy shook her head, even though she knew most of it. "I didn't die. And now everyone expects me to be some kind of hero and have all the answers."

"Aah," Buffy said, empathizing. "I see. Don't underestimate not dying. It's a big part of success in any job. It's worked real well for me, unlike most Slayers. Although, I've died a couple of times, too, and it's still worked out. Mostly it's been about not being dead, I guess."

"Willow told me about that. She said you're the greatest Slayer ever."

"She's my best friend. She says stuff like that. I just do my job, is all. She and Xander have been a big part of it. Giles, too."

"Do you always know what to do?" He wondered if Buffy might understand the position he was in. He would have been flabbergasted at how happy it made her that she could actually explain stuff like this to someone who would understand.

"Nope. Almost never. So I do what I think I should. Most times I've been right, but not always. Why do you ask?"

"Every time something goes wrong, people look to me. As if I'm not just a kid learning magic. The other night…" He explained about Halloween. Even before he finished, she was nodding.

"I know where you're coming from. No matter what happens, you'll never have the answers every time. Trust me on that one. That's why you have people around you to help. This guy Neville, he had the answer, right?"

"Yeah."

"Next time it might be Ron, or one of your other friends. Keep doing what you think is right, and keep listening to them. You can't do anything more than that."

"How do you handle the responsibility?" She thought hard about that, knowing he needed a cogent answer, and considered how Giles would frame the lesson.

"Willow told me about some of what you've been through. When your friend's little sister was kidnapped, did you think about whether you could handle it?"

"A little. I had to do it anyway, though. She would have died."

"You could have gotten help."

"But they might have messed it up," he said indignantly. "How could I let someone else do it?"

"Easy. You just ask them to, and then do nothing."

"But what if she died? It would be my fault." Buffy smiled.

"There's your answer, Harry. You had to act, because you felt responsible. And when you act, from what I've seen and heard, it goes well. That's why people look to you. But they don't make the responsibility. You do. I'm the same way. There have been times when I could quit. I had more chances to than any Slayer ever born. One time, I did." She explained about her summer in L.A., glossing over the Angel issues. "You are what you are, kiddo. You can't get away from it because you won't let yourself. I guess I handle it by accepting that," she finished. Harry thought about her story and realized he would have done the same thing for Lily. He nodded.

"I understand. I do it because I have to, and I guess I wouldn't change it, because I'd feel terrible if something happened." He looked at the Slayer. "Thanks." She gave him a warm smile.

"No problem. Everybody needs a serious pep talk in between bouts of world saveage. Try Giles next time. He's way better at them than me."


	35. Road Trip IV: Expect the Unexpected

          Grey and Tara met for breakfast at The Espresso Pump. Grey bought coffee and bagels for both of them, ignoring her offer to pay, and they sat down at a table that faced the street.

          "S-s-so I know what you're going to ask me," Tara said after a few minutes. Her stomach had tightened the moment she saw him in the garden, and now wondered why Willow had sent him instead of Giles. Didn't they understand that she could never risk Willow that way?

          "I doubt it," he said curtly. He pulled out Collin Creavey's package from his pocket and handed it to her. "Please look through those carefully."

          Tara's jaw dropped when she saw the first picture.

          "They're – they're moving?"

          "Wizard's pictures. Magic." She nodded, astounded. She flipped through more than a dozen pictures of teenagers in black robes. Their emotions ran the gamut from bubbly to dour. She handed them back, but he waved her off.

          "Keep them. I know you think I'm here because you're needed for Willow's training," he began. She nodded. "I'm not. Willow's training is going well. Her control is improving rapidly. She no longer acts out of need to use magic, and when necessary she has used it and then been able to stop instantly. She's a long way from finished, but this is going to be a lengthy process. Years, probably." Tara nodded again, glad to hear of Willow's progress. "Twice she drew on the full extent of her power. Neither time ignited her addiction again." He paused, searching for the right segue. "Willow and I have grown close."

          "Dawn told me. Y-y-you're dating." Grey nodded. "I'm glad. I want her to be happy." He could hear the sadness in her voice, and the longing.

          "Tara, I want you to know, I didn't come here to cause you pain. Willow cares deeply about you, and I would never do this if I could avoid it. She asked me to come."

          "Why?"

          "She thought that if I came, you would understand the gravity of our predicament. It's important enough for me to come here, causing all three of us great pain, and sit down with you to talk about bringing you back into Willow's life." Tara nodded. She knew this had to be hard for him, and that he must feel threatened by her. "From what I understand, you're a specialist in healing and defense, and your magic and Willow's have a symbiotic effect, right?"

          "Yeah. I-it comes from learning so much together, and from the H-hellmouth."

          "My ex-fiancee slaughtered each of the children in those pictures," he said abruptly, going for the jugular. A strangled cry escaped from her throat; her rosy complexion turned white. "She has access to power even Willow couldn't harness. I'm trying to find a way to save her or, failing that, to stop her. Until I do, we need you to help hold her off. That's why I'm here. We need you. This is larger than the personal issues between you and Willow, and larger than any problem that might arise between me and Willow. It's about saving lives. Will you come?"

          Tara tried to find a way out, but she had no choice. Not when the alternative was dead children. She shuffled through the pictures one final time and agreed.

          Willow waited alone in her room. She knew Grey and Harry would be back soon, possibly with Tara. She had been rehearsing what she needed to say for the past three hours when the knock came at the door. She rushed to open it.

          "Grey, I …" It was Tara. Smiling.

          "N-n-not exactly. Can I come in?"

          "Sure, Tara. Of course. Come on." She smiled her greeting as well, hoping to cover the ball of ice lodged in her stomach. They walked in, Tara glancing around at Willow's new home; Willow sat down on her bed and waited for her to begin.

          Grey stood alone on the roof. Most of the day had disappeared while arranging for the packaging and shipment of Tara's things. Night had set on the Hogwarts campus when they returned. He went to the roof to train, but found himself staring out over the grounds instead.

          Upon further reflection, and seeing Tara's face, he knew that Willow was in for a complicated evening. Tara would want her back. And, what she had said earlier notwithstanding, part of Willow would be drawn to her. As part of him had been drawn to Jess. He hoped she would choose him, but when the moment arose … the choice would be difficult. She needed to make it, and he doubted she would choose him.

          So he waited.

          "How are you?" Tara asked. She could see the anxiety etched in her lover's features.

          "Mostly good. The good side of confused. I don't know … I have so much to say, and I don't know what I should and shouldn't. How are you?"

          "About the s-same as you, I guess. I want you to know th-that I came because … not because I thought you needed me to check up on you or anything, b-because I don't. I came because of what Grey told me about the children."

          "I'm glad," Willow said honestly. "I know you wouldn't come check up on me … well, I mean, you would if things were all bad, and I would want you to, because, y'know, I know you'll help me … I'm sorry. I promised myself there would be no babbling, but here it is."

          "I-it's okay. I don't mind it." She smiled again. Willow had missed her smile so much. "Grey said you're doing well with your control."

          "I am. Not great. At least I don't think so. But everyone else seems much more at ease. And I've had times where the power would just flood through me, y'know, but I was able to rein it in. So that's of the good."

          "Th-that's so great, Willow." Tara meant it, but they were both stalling.

          "Back from the Hellmouth, eh, mate? Hate that place."

          "How've things been here?" Spike walked up next to him, the ever-present cigarette in his hand.

          "Quiet night, last night was. Snape's pokin' about for you, though." Grey raised an eyebrow. Snape generally avoided him at all costs. "No idea what about."

          "I told Buffy about your message. Seems it wasn't the one she sent."

          "The hell it wasn't." Grey said nothing. "Oh, I get it. Her message was that she'd beat you up if you hurt Willow. The rest was my message." He chuckled, and Grey nodded. "She pissed?"

          "No."

          "Figures."

          "I got the feeling she misses you."

          "Don't be saying shit like that, mate, you know what's good for you." His game face came out unintentionally.

          "Even when it's true?"

          Willow decided she had to say it.

          "Where are we? I mean, things between us." Tara gave her a guarded look.

          "W-W-Willow, I-I-I …" she paused, trying to get her stutter under control. "W-Willow, I miss you so much, seeing you, talking to you, being with you."

          "Do you want … to be together again?"

          "How can we? You're with Grey."

          "If I wasn't?" Tara looked away.

          "Willow, I can't. I want you in my life so badly, but … n-n-not that way." She didn't look, fearing the expression on the redhead's face. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

          "Tara, hon, look at me." The blonde witch complied. Instead of tears, she saw understanding. "It's okay. I destroyed what we had when I cast that memory spell. I regret it so much, but I can't undo it. If I've learned anything this year, it's that some things can't be fixed," she said, thinking of Jess and Grey. "It doesn't mean that something different can't replace it."

          "I don't want you to think I don't trust you, because I do, just…"

          "I know," Willow said sadly. She had been a fool, and the price tag was hefty. She felt more relieved then saddened that Tara didn't want her back, though. She would've felt terribly about saying she was staying with Grey instead. Then she thought of what else she had to explain, and her eyes filled.

          "I didn't say she said it. I said I felt it."

          "Heard you tangled with Dru," Spike said, deflecting the discussion. He flicked the spent butt away and lit another.

          "She's different." Spike laughed.

          "About six cards short of a deck, is what you're saying."

          "Yeah."

          "Always liked that about her, I did." 

"Buffy called you her Spike."

          "The fuck you say!" Grey eyed him and nodded. "I'll be damned. Bloody chit doesn't know what she wants now, does she?"

          "Guess not." Spike smirked. Things were looking up.

          "So you're up here while Red and Glinda have their chat, eh?"

          "Glinda?"

          "Tara."

          "Oh. Yeah."

          "Getting' all armored up for the inevitable dumping, eh? Right smart o' you, mate, 'cept that you're a bloody moron."

          Grey glared. Spike continued unhindered.

          "I'll tell you what I told Red when she saw you dancin' with the dish at Halloween. Do you trust her? If you do, then trust her. With your heart. With all of it. I know you want to. She's hooked on you like you're hooked on her. Let her do what she has to do. I'll tell her you're here."

          When Grey turned around, Spike was gone.

          "Tara, do you remember … when we fought before the fair? Before Glory?" Tara nodded. "I-I don't want you to think … it wasn't … this doesn't …" The thoughts broke the dam and Willow started to cry. "Me and Grey isn't about me changing back. I don't want you to think you were just a phase. I loved you, with all my heart. I can't have you thinking…" Her sobs drowned out the words. Tara, understanding her point, put her arms around Willow.

          "Sshh, sweetie. I don't think I was just a phase. I know you loved me. I loved you too."

          "Please believe me, it wasn't about boys or girls or sex or anything. I fell for him way before I slept with him, and it has so nothing to do with that." They separated. "I swear, it has nothing to do with things between us not being real."

          "I know, Willow. It's about the people, not what they are. That's how you found me." Willow nodded, sniffling and wiping her tears with her forearms. "We can be friends, though, right?"

          "You have no idea how much I want that," Willow said.

          "Besides, he's a total hottie," Tara said, cracking them both up. The tension drained away, and Willow felt as lucky as she ever had.

          "Tell me about it. I think…" she stopped, considering how unwilling she had been to give him up.

          "What?" 

          "It's just, I just realized… I'm in love with him. I've known him three months and I'm in love with him. That's safe," she added sarcastically. Way to go and complicate things, Will.

          "Love isn't safe, Willow. You know that. Have you told him?" Tara felt relieved; she had been so afraid of having to turn Willow down and be shut out of her life. The friend role would work fine.

          "I can't. Not yet. There's a lot you should know, and I'll totally fill you in, but … he's not in love with me. And he needs to say it first."

          He heard the feathery footsteps on the roof. Downwind, he smelled the cinnamon. For the first time since he asked Jess to their very first dinner, he wanted to vomit from fear.

          She came up next to him and followed his gaze out over the grounds. She could see it on his face.

          "You didn't believe me."

          "I guess not."

          "Why didn't you?" He didn't answer. "I would never have said those things if I had any thoughts of going back to Tara."

          "I met her. She seemed… wonderful. Sometimes, you forget what it's like until the person is close."

          "Jess lost you."

          "Yes."

          "I lost Tara. It's different."

          "Anyone can become addicted to the powers you had access to, Willow. It wasn't your fault."

          "Lethe's Bramble." He looked at her in horror.

          "You didn't?"

          "I did."

          "That's mind-rape."

          "I know."

          They were silent. It felt like hours. Grey spoke first.

          "She wouldn't have taken you back."

          "I don't know. No. Maybe, if I pushed it. I didn't want to go back, though."

          "I truly believed that you would. I think I wanted you to, a little bit."

          "Why?" Willow felt a cold stab of fear.

          "I'm afraid of… what we have. If you went back to Tara, I could just be hurt and put myself back together again. Now… we're on the edge of something scary."

          "I know." With a hand to his cheek, she turned him to face her. "I would never, ever do anything like I did to Tara again."

          "That's not the scary that I meant. I never thought you would. Not for a second."

          "You can get out now, if it's too much. No big." Neither one believed that.

          "Very big, actually. And I kind of like it. It's just … it's kind of a lot."

          "Believe it or not, I've heard that before." 

He kissed her, then held her tightly for a long time before they went back inside.

          Together.


	36. The Older Generation

Yet Another Author's Note: Surfing the web last night, I discovered something called the Shades of Grey awards. Not interested in duplication, so scratch that title idea. Once again, if you have one, however dumb it might be, send it across. This is my last plea for awhile, though, I promise. –40

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          "Still awake, Rupert?"

          "I couldn't sleep, Minerva," Giles said, sitting back from the open volume in front of him. Most of the library lights burned low in the evenings, but he had a smaller one out on the desk. The glow intensified the wrinkles and crags on his face, bringing out the weathering that five years in Sunnydale had given him. McGonagall sat down across the table.

          "Neither could I. It's frightfully cold in my room tonight. Have you made any progress on your project?" Giles had spoken with her and with Dumbledore for research ideas.

          "Minimal. We're just beginning, of course. Miss Granger got quite a bit of a head start, but the journey is long. I suppose you think it's foolish of us to pursue this."

          "Actually, I'm rather glad you are," she said. "I had Miss O'Brien as a student, you know."

          "I had assumed, yes."

          "She was a lovely girl, a Gryffindor. Very warm and open, but with a fierce temper. A number of times I had to deal with her harshly after confrontations with Severus."

          "He is a dreadful man," Giles said.

          "Yes, he acts that way. In his heart, I think he is a good man. Unfortunately, he has learned some difficult lessons, and I doubt he will ever overcome the effect they have had on him. Of course, he is also exceptionally talented with potions."

          "Why did he have problems with the young lady, if you don't mind my asking?" Giles wondered if Snape had found a weakness they could exploit.

          "Well, it was never her personally. She always had abundant talent, though her specialties were more akin to combat magic than to potions. Actually, he tended to single out her friends, who leaned towards the awkward and socially … unpopular. She would defend them vigorously. With her temper, many of their exchanges became quite heated. She was rather fearless about it, actually."

          "I see."

          "I was so happy when she decided to become an auror," McGonagall said. "Besides her gift, she had a true desire to protect others. She and Grey were the rising stars of the auror ranks, did you know?"

          "No. I haven't spoken to him about his own past very specifically," Giles equivocated.

          "She was so desperate to be one. We all knew she would, with top grades and our recommendations, but Albus and I met specially with Cornelius Fudge to ensure it." She sighed, remembering. "We never knew exactly what happened after he turned her loose until the night Grey came back from Harry's."

          "This must be very hard for you," Giles offered sympathetically. 

          "I just can't help but wonder if we might have done something more. Of course, I'm not sure what. But I would have liked the opportunity to reach out to her."

          "A number of years ago, a new Slayer named Faith visited us in Sunnydale. The Slayer who followed Buffy, a girl named Kendra, was fairly normal for a Slayer. Very driven, very apart from the world around her. When she died, Faith was called. At times she would be quite engaging: funny, outgoing, loyal. She had the makings of a very special Slayer, rather like Buffy."

          "How did she die?" McGonagall asked, assuming her rise had been cut short in the standard manner.

          "She didn't. Instead, she sided with one of our deadliest foes and became one of them herself. I often wish that I could have done something for her to prevent that, but I can never find a specific instance where it was possible." They shared a look of understanding.

          "What became of her?"

          "She's in prison in the United States. One of our associates in Los Angeles keeps tabs on her. Apparently, she has changed quite a bit since her capture. He believes that she has actually come back to our side, though I must say I would need quite a bit of proof."

          "So the story may yet have a happy ending, Rupert?"

          "I suppose anything is possible, Minerva."

          "I must remind you, Headmaster, of the danger this girl could pose if brought back here."

          "Yes, Severus. And I must remind you of the danger that you once posed for the same reason."

          "She is far more powerful than I will ever be," Snape said. Contrary to what Giles might believe, he was not envious. He knew the dangers of that power. "It is preposterous that we even consider anything but ridding ourselves of her threat."

          "I fear your personal dislike of Miss O'Brien is tainting your consideration of this. Beyond that, I am not the one attempting to return her to our side. I have no control over what our students and professors do in their spare time."

          "We both know that entire statement is untrue, don't we, Albus?" Dumbledore raised a hairy white eyebrow. "You could stop it if you wished to, and I know how fond you were of the girl. You would like to see her saved from this. As for the rest, I never disliked Miss O'Brien at all."

          "I don't seem to recall that." Dumbledore remembered Snape's feuding with the student.

          "You know that I do not always form the most healthy associations with students who are not of my house," Snape said. His honesty surprised Dumbledore, as did what followed. "Though we had an extremely adversarial relationship, I liked her quite a bit. I wrote a recommendation for her application to become an auror. She never knew, of course. I admired her audacity. Our cause needed those like her."

          "I must say that it has been a long time since I have been truly shocked, Severus, but I am now."

          "I only tell you because you must understand. I have seen those like her before. Eventually the magic swallows them, but they bring fiery havoc before it does."

          "I appreciate your position. I can not in good conscience order Professor Giles and the others to cease, however. Even if I were inclined to do so, and I believe I am more inclined than you think, the decision is not mine to make. If our people think it is a worthwhile goal to pursue, then they will find a way to pursue it regardless."

          "Very well, then." He stood to leave, but Dumbledore gestured for him to wait.

          "There is one other matter. Professor Rosenberg's friend, Miss Maclay, will be circulating among the teachers as an assistant. She will also be helping Willow to create a number of new defensive wards in the coming weeks. For the latter, I expect your cooperation. From what Willow tells me, you may find her particularly adept with potions. I would suggest that you treat her kindly from the start, as according to Willow she is extremely shy."

          Snape looked displeased, but nodded. He had been told how necessary Tara was.

          "Thank you, then. That will be all."


	37. Neville the Boy Wonder

          "Halt! Who seeks an audience with my noble sire?"

          "N-Neville Longbottom."

          "I see. And are you this Neville Longbottom, or merely his squire?"

          "Huh?" Neville had no idea what the puny knight was talking about, but combined with how scared he already was, he was about ten seconds from running.

          "A master of deception, then! Unwilling to reveal his true…" The door opened, pushing the painting away.

          "Cadogan!"

          "I'm sorry, my liege. I am merely trying to protect you, is all."

          "If I'm in the room, you tell people to knock. Unless they know the password. Once more, and I will be most displeased. Neville?"

          "Y-yes?" The Gryffindor had been trying to stay out of sight in the hall.

          "Come on in." Grey appeared dour, but his tone was friendly. Neville, casting a fearful glance in the direction of Sir Cadogan, darted into the room. "What can I do for you?" Grey shut the door and ushered him into the center.

          The sight of so many muggle toys left Neville temporarily awestruck. His eyes flitted around the room, trying to take it all in at once. Grey waited patiently for his eyes to halt their gyrations before he spoke.

          "Neville?"

          "Oh. Sorry. It's just … not what I expected." Grey nodded. "I … I came to ask for help."

          "Name it."

          "I was sort of hoping … Willow said that you might … teach me? Some of the fighting stuff you know?"

          "Absolutely. Do you mind if I ask why?"

          "I'm so tired." Neville sighed, letting it all out. He never had before, but Grey seemed like he would listen without laughing. "I'm tired of being a klutz and of being scared and of not knowing anything." He started to cry softly, but Grey knew he wasn't finished and let him go. "I'm tired of thinking my parents would be so disappointed in me."

          The auror walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

          "Neville, if you truly believe that, I can't help you. All I can teach you is how to discipline yourself and how to use that to defend yourself."

          "I feel like if I know something like that, I would be more like they would want me to be."

          "What happened to your parents is a terrible thing. But don't think for a minute that somewhere in their heads they don't remember you or wouldn't be proud of you. They would be. They would certainly be proud that you came for help when you needed it, and that you've survived years of Professor Snape, and made great friends like Harry and Ron." The tears streamed down Neville's face, but he nodded. "You don't need to know self-defense to have something to be proud of. If you don't believe any of that, how about this?"

          Neville looked up, questioning him with his eyes.

          "On Halloween, you went head to head with as dangerous an opponent as your parents or mine have ever faced. You did it when you were so frightened that your hands shook, when most of your classmates stampeded the exits to stay alive. In the face of all of that fear, you stood your ground and tried to save lives. Take pride in that, if nothing else. I'll be happy to teach you, because I think you're worth teaching, but I won't do it when you don't recognize the value in you that I do." The boy nodded again, his tears finally halted and replaced with a look of determination.

          "What do I have to do?" He asked.

          "Be on the southwest roof tonight, an hour before lights out. Wear loose-fitting pants and a sweater. You'll be cold."

          Grey handed Neville a towel. Spike lit a cigarette.

          "Wasn't so bad, was it?" The vampire asked Neville.

          "No," the boy admitted, wiping the sweat from his face. "It's more thinking than I thought it would be." Grey signaled his agreement with a slight nod. "I'm going to be sore tomorrow, though."

          "Doesn't have to be so much thinking," Spike said. "Helps at the beginning, though. I think you'll be right good at this, after awhile. As for the soreness, it goes away quickly."

          "Thanks for helping, Spike. That's twice now, with this and with Malfoy."

          "Like I said before, jus' doin' it 'cause it's fun."

          "Who taught you to fight?" Neville meant the question innocently, but he saw that it was not a good one to ask. Spike's eyes went dark for a minute.

          "You know what a sire is?" Neville shook his head. "Sire's the one that vamps you. Mine's a lady named Drusilla. Grey met her in Sunnydale a few weeks back. She taught me some of it. Rest of it I learned from Angelus, who was her sire, or picked up on my own."

          "You don't sound like you like them too much," Neville said without thinking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he added quickly.

          "'S'Alright. You don't know better. Let's say that Angelus isn't the man he once was; I don't hate 'im, but we don't get along. Dru … let's say she's not on the top of my list, and drop it. Are you going to be joinin' us regular, then?" Neville welcomed the change in subject. He liked the vampire and didn't want to make him angry.

          "Is it okay? I don't want to get in the way." Spike looked at Grey, who nodded.

          "No problem for me. I don't mind teachin'. I was hoping to teach the nibblet some this fall, actually."

          "The nibblet?"

          "Dawn, Buffy's little sister. Gonna be a hell of a fighter, that one, if they get her trained up."

          "She's not bad now," Grey said. "She got Drusilla with the holy water pretty good."

          "Really?" That impressed Spike. "Not bad. Dru isn't one to mess with. You remember that," he said to Neville, "if she ever comes 'round here."

          The red eyes and the rasping voice made Drusilla think of the snake show she and Spike would watch sometimes, in the old days. Robin Hood, with all of the animals talking like people. She loved it because they could watch it without getting hungry.

          "You must be careful. This castle is crawling with do-gooders." The voice spat the final word.

          "It's alright, dearie. I've been there before. A nice little girl invited me in. We had fun, but then she was bad. Miss Edith remembers, don't you?" The vampiress began babbling to the doll.

          "Attend me."

          Two servants in dark robes rushed to their lord's side. One of them moved slightly faster than the other, who rapidly grew bored with her subservient role.

          "How may we serve, master?"

          "Wormtail, I would like you to deliver this … Master Vampire of sorts … to the castle. Provide her with enough minions and Death Eaters to make the endeavor worthwhile. Precious?"

          Jess hated that name. She inched closer, thinking of the day when she might rip that slithering tongue from his head. If only Grey and that redheaded bitch had joined her, she would be dragging him around by a leash.

          "Yes, master? How may I serve?" Her syrupy voice flowed over him. He loved it, but he was not foolish enough to believe it.

          "You have always told me how you liked an audience. Come up with something … special, will you? Something to draw out Albus and those other sheep he has gathered to him. Make sure whatever you do lasts long enough to get him there. Begin two weeks from today."

          Jess shivered at the prospect. It was almost too much fun to imagine.


	38. Catching Up

          Not even Potions could put a damper on Neville's good mood. After working out with Grey and Spike, he finally felt like he might actually acquire a useful skill. Rather than berate his mistakes, they had explained the reasons for them. It made him feel less like an idiot and more like a beginner. He could learn enough to graduate from beginner level. Idiots were stuck.

          He also had spent a long time replaying Grey's comments about his parents in his mind. He would not soon forget those. The former auror (Neville wondered if he was now a Jedi, whatever that was) had made sense. He knew his parents would be proud of his actions at Halloween, and he vowed never to forget it. If it never happened again, he had done the right thing once, and succeeded.

          The Gryffindors, mercifully, had Potions with the Hufflepuffs rather than the Slytherins this year. Snape tended to be less difficult without his house around, but he still managed to malign Neville for something each day.

          Tara walked in to the dungeon atmosphere of Snape's classroom and felt the butterflies dancing around her abdomen. She had been helping different classes since her arrival, but this would be her first attempt at Potions. Willow had put it in perspective at dinner the night before, though Tara had been more calm then than now.

          "Look, it's like this. If scowl-puss Snape doesn't like you, you never have to go back. If he does, he'll at least not be unfriendly. It's not like you can get fired. We begged you to come."

          She set her books down at a desk in the front row, and looked around. Hermione smiled at her from the next seat.

          "How are you, Professor?" In private, Hermione had consented to call her Tara only because she was Willow's close friend.

          "O-okay. A little nervous."

          "Willow says you're great at this kind of thing. You mustn't let anything anyone says get to you."

          "Thanks, Hermione." Tara smiled.

          "Miss Maclay?" His voice sounded like the booming of an evil grandfather clock. She turned around to face him.

          "P-P-Professor S-S-Snape, hi. I guess I-I'm with you today."

          "Indeed. Retrieve these items from the supply closet. A map of the contents is just inside the door." He handed her a list and watched her walk to the back room.

          Because of Dumbledore's request, he had decided to give her a small chance, though her stutter annoyed him. He could certainly use a competent assistant. He stepped to the front of the class to begin.

          "Today, we begin our discussion of a difficult and potentially dangerous type of potions. If mixed improperly, healing potions can do more harm than good. Longbottom, for obvious reasons, I suggest you pay very close attention."

          Neville didn't flinch, surprising Snape. All he did was respond with a quiet "Yes, Professor." Snape couldn't even accuse him of a mocking tone. How odd.

          "Now can anyone tell me the ingredients for the healing ointment Clew?" Hands shot up around the room.

          From the door of the supply closet, Tara watched Snape teach. While he clearly had knowledge of potions, he was a horrendous educator. She had hoped Neville could evade the barb, which he had, but she could not believe a teacher would act that way. She grabbed the last of the supplies and went forward to arrange them.

          "Now, Miss Maclay, if you would please mix the first three items on that list into the small cauldron on my desk. Following that, please heat it until it boils, add the final ingredients and allow it to cool. At that point it should be mashed into a paste." 

          As she was doing it, he lectured on about the healing properties of the ointment. Neville watched with interest as Tara worked. She seemed to know exactly when to add ingredients or change the temperature of the mixture. Neville realized Snape had neglected to provide complete instructions; the homework had been very clear about the dangers of incorrectly timing the ministrations. Lost in that thought, Neville ignored Snape's question.

          "I'm sorry, Mr. Longbottom, what was your answer?"

          "Huh?" Neville realized immediately he was in deep trouble.

          "I said, what was your answer?"

          "I-I don't know?"

          "Do you know what the question was, Mr. Longbottom, or are you not required to pay attention in my class any longer?"

          "S-sorry, Professor. I d-don't know what the question was." Now the fear returned full force to Neville's stomach.

          "I see. Ten points from Gryffindor for Mr. Longbottom's daydreams. The question was, does Clew have to be applied to a new wound, or can it be used on an old one? Well, Mr. Longbottom?"

          "A-any wound, Professor." Snape looked at him silently for a long second.

          "Correct. I see you have a scrape on your right cheek, fairly fresh, is that also correct?" Two rows away, Hermione began to pray that Tara knew what she was doing.

          "Y-yes, Professor." Spike accidentally dropped him to the pavement harder than intended the night before. Neville could see where Snape was headed.

          "Good. Miss Maclay, is the ointment ready?"

          "Y-yes, Professor." Tara knew it, too. "I really don't think we sh-should use it until you've been able to t-test it, though."

          "Well, we shall test it right now. Longbottom, come forward."

          Neville stood and walked to the front of the class. He thought of Halloween to steady himself. If the potion had been prepared incorrectly, the pain would be intense.

          "P-professor, this is not a good idea. I've never done this before. H-he could be hurt."

          "Nonsense," Snape said. His sneer turned almost gleeful. "They tell me you're quite talented. I'm sure a healing ointment is well within your means."

          Tara looked at Neville, who nodded.

          "J-just do it, Professor Maclay. I'm sure it will be fine."

          She handed him the bowl of ointment she had prepared. Bracing for the pain, he tentatively applied it to the cut on his face.

          Willow caught up with Tara in the hall afterwards.

          "So, how'd it go? Banned for life?"

          "Actually, he a-asked me to come back tomorrow," Tara replied. She recalled being as surprised as Willow looked. Neville's cut had healed instantly, earning her a raised eyebrow and nod. She could feel Snape's disappointment, but Hermione indicated this was the highest praise he gave.

          "Whoa. You must have been super."

          "I guess. I don't like him, though. He actually hates his students."

          "Yeah, well, he'll get his. Are you going to work with him more?"

          "Not unless he cleans up his act. I think he actually wanted to hurt Neville today." Willow frowned, and then remembered the other reason she had found Tara.

          "So are you around tonight?" Tara nodded, happy to change the subject. "I have a magic lesson. I was kinda hoping you'd come watch, so I could show off. Grey will be there, and Giles. How about it?"

          "I'd like that."

          "See you at 8, then."

          "You wanted to see me?" Grey said as he strode into Snape's empty classroom.

          "Indeed, I did."

          "Let me guess," Grey said, immediately taking the offensive. He had no use for Snape, and only had shown up to put the Potions Master in his place. "You're going to tell me that we should let her go, that she is a danger to herself and others, and that we should focus our efforts on killing her."

          "That is correct," Snape said coldly, looking unfazed by the auror's outburst.

          "I'm sorry, Professor," Grey spat, "but that is not an option."

          "You foolish boy!" Snape suddenly darted across the room and grabbed Grey's shirt with both hands. "Do you have any idea of the forces you are mucking about with?"

          Grey shoved Snape off of him and pulled his shirt off, revealing his scars.

          "I think the answer is yes, Severus."

          "Those are nothing." Snape rolled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. "Do you see this? I have seen her. I have seen what the Dark Lord has her do. Those marks on your skin are kisses compared to that. Imagine a man pinned to a tree branch ten feet in the air. Now imagine that, over the course of 24 hours, his skin is peeled off, like that of a grape. Or another man, this one tied to a wooden table, his ribs removed at one hour intervals and salt poured in their place." Sickened, Grey turned away as he replaced his shirt. "That is the kind of evil you are thinking of bringing here. That is what you are so desperately trying to save."

          "That's not her," Grey said, fighting back his rage. He had never had such a desire to hit anyone in his life. "That's the magic."

          "I'm afraid I do not care," Snape said coldly. "That is the reality. Whether she once was something else does not concern me. Ending the threat she poses is my only priority."

          Grey snapped. Spinning around, he drew the lightsaber. The hum filled the room.

          "You son of a bitch. If you do anything to stop us, to slow us down, I will do things to you that you can't possibly imagine. You think she makes people hurt? How long would you like me to wait between fingers, Severus? Which ear would you prefer to keep? What shape should I make the cuts on your cheeks?" The auror vibrated with anger. Snape backed away, realizing that he had erred badly. "As of now, unless you see or hear something useful, you are uninvolved. Are we clear about that?"

          Snape nodded, unsure why this man frightened him so badly. Some of the Death Eaters made similar threats with equal conviction upon his return. He had been arrogant enough not to believe them. He believed Grey.

          "Say it."

          "Yes."

          Grey closed the lightsaber and left the room.


	39. Extremes

          Willow had her lessons with Dumbledore in his office. Tara and Giles each had seats on one side of the desk, with Willow and Dumbledore on the other. Grey, as always, reclined on the book ladder. Fawkes perched by his shoulder, and Grey absently stroked the phoenix while he watched. He had decided not to say anything about his interlude with Snape to anyone.

          "I am glad you could join us, Miss Maclay."

          "Th-thank you, Professor."

          "I hear Professor Snape is quite taken with your work." Tara blushed. "You should be proud. I have known Severus a very long time, since he was a boy, and he has rarely liked anyone's work but his own." Willow giggled, sending the rest of them into a fit of laughter. After it subsided, Dumbledore faced Willow intently.

          "Miss Rosenberg. I have spoken with Mr. Giles and Professor McGonagall, and we believe the time has come to introduce you to a different brand of magic. One that is, with your condition, potentially quite dangerous." Grey sat forward, realizing what was coming.

          "Dangerous?" Willow asked.

          "We would like to see how you handle the basics of combat magic." Willow suddenly appeared very nervous. Grey came off the ladder and took her aside. Pulling her into his arms, his words came in a whisper. He felt her tiny shakes.

          "You don't have to do this."

          "I think I do." She clung to him like a life preserver. "If Jess comes back, I'll have to do this. I need to control it first, or we could be faced with two of the same."

          "Can you?"

          "I don't know. I have to try. Stay with me while I do?"

          "I'm here. Giles is here. Tara is here. You'll be fine."

          "I want you to promise me something." She lifted her eyes to his. "If I lose it, now or later, you'll be the one to face me. No one else. Just you."

          "Why?"

          "Because…" She trailed off, not wanting to tell him that she loved him. "Because I trust you to help me."

          "Of course. I promise. I'll always help you."

          "Smile at me." He did, and she felt safe. The shaking that had begun to build in her subsided. She rested her head on his chest for a second, and then pulled away.

          "Let's do this." The others had looked away, offering a semi-private moment. Tara glowed inwardly, happy that Willow had found someone again. She hoped she would be so lucky.

          "Very well, my dear." He took an unlit candle from his side table and placed it in front of her. "You will not need your wand for this exercise. Close your eyes and picture the candle. Please focus as intensely as possible on its unlit wick. Do not light it until I tell you." She focused on the wick and felt the power gathering. It would be so easy to light it, then she could move on to the next part; she knew the exercise would be to light the wick anyway. She could feel the air warming around it. A slight touch would ignite the flame. That was its natural state, to be aflame. The candle was meant to burn. All she would really be doing would be returning it to its desired state.

          "Now, Willow," she heard Dumbledore's soothing voice in the background. He seemed distant. "I want you to imagine a sphere around the wick. The air in that sphere is solid ice, while the air outside of it is extremely warm and getting warmer. Can you imagine that?"

          She could see it as he said it. The air she had felt warming rapidly encircled the candle, but inside the sphere it was ice cold. That was why the wick wasn't in its natural state. Because of the cold. Her anger bucked and twisted, seeking permission to obliterate the cold. All she had to do would be to turn the heat up, and the cold would be gone. She wanted more than anything to light the wick. Everything else in the world had disappeared but her desire to do that. 

As she felt the heat respond to her will, she realized that she could easily light the candle. Why did she want to, though? It would be so pretty, to have a ball of ice inside such a warm flame. As she pictured it, she decided she wanted more than anything to see the ball of ice inside the flame.

"Willow, open your eyes." She opened them, looking for the candle.

She saw the upper half of the candle encased in a sphere of ice. The surface of the ice had flames dancing from it, but it did not melt.

"Now, if you would, allow the ice to cool the flames, please." She imagined the cold sucking the heat from the flame, and suddenly it vanished. Without a verbal prompt, she imagined the ice dissipating as the air sucked the cold from it. Suddenly the candle stood untouched.

Open-mouthed and staring, Grey, Giles and Tara said nothing.

"Remarkable," Dumbledore said. "Absolutely remarkable. Tell me, my dear, what did you feel?"

"I felt the wick. When I focused on it, it was like it was calling me to light it. Like it wanted me to light it. Then, you asked for the ice, and I could see the ice."

"I see. Then what?"

"I felt the ice, blocking me from the wick. And I began to heat the air, to get at the wick. But I wondered why I wanted to burn it so badly, and then … then I decided I wanted to see both together, that no matter how hot I made it I wanted to see flames on the ice."

"And you saw them, did you not?"

"I did. What happened, though? What did I just do?"

          Dumbledore grinned.

          "Actually, you passed the trial. Rather ingenious of me, I must say. I enchanted the wick to call upon your power to light it. Your subconscious fought your magic for control and won, preventing the lighting of the wick. Then, when I called for the ice, I was asking you to balance the elements, which requires a great deal of power and control. You did it perfectly."

          "Way to go, Willow!" Grey's shout drew an amazed look from everyone else.

          "Indeed. Good show," Giles said. Tara smiled.

          "I don't get it. What did I do? And how is that combat magic?"

          Giles answered her.

          "Combat magic is generally elemental magic like this at its heart," Giles said. "Proper control is difficult, because whatever elements you manipulate are augmented by the ones that exist naturally."

          "Also," Grey chimed in, "With elemental magic, there's always the urge to do more, to use more power. That's what got Jess into trouble against Voldemort. He kept urging her power to do all that it could. Eventually, it took over. Albus did the same thing to you, magically instead of verbally. Your subconscious, which is the important part in controlling magic, said no. It used the power appropriately when you didn't even know which were the appropriate uses. What that means, essentially, is that your subconscious is learning to guard you from what happened to Jess."

          "That's correct, Grey," Dumbledore said. "How do you know that?"

          "After this ordeal? I've read more than most people ever will about the intricacies of controlling magic, Albus. I just don't know how it feels." Dumbledore nodded. "It's really amazing, Willow."

          "Do I get a gold star?"

          Dumbledore waved his wand and mumbled a few words. He handed her a two-inch wide gold star.

          "You certainly do, my dear. You certainly do."


	40. Future Engagements

          "So Buffy, did you guys do any holiday planning yet?"

          "Nah. With mom gone, it's kind of different. Probably just dinner and a few presents with Dawn and Xander. What about you? Are you home-bound?"

          "I thought I'd stay here with Grey, neither of us being big on the whole Christmas thing."

          "That's right! He's Jewish. Should make your parents happy."

          "If I ever tell them. Also, it could be canceled out by the whole Jedi-evil fighter-wizard parents-thing."

          "Oh, yeah. I guess it kind of would. That's a little different than being in a band. So you guys are staying there. What about Giles and Tara?"

          "Well," Willow said, pausing to let the suspense build. She had called specifically for the purpose of dropping this on Buffy out of the blue. "We were kind of thinking along the lines of you three coming to visit all of us here. How 'bout it?"

          Buffy squealed with delight at the idea, then explained to a bewildered Dawn, who began squealing as well. A minute later they gathered themselves.

          "Do we have to do that fireplace thingy that Harry and Grey did?"

          "Unless you want to spend mucho dinero for a plane ticket."

          "Nope. Fireplace it is. What is that, three weeks from now?"

          "About that. At least you're automatically out of work for vacation. How's the counseling gig going?"

          "Are you sure you're ready for this?" Hermione still harbored concerns about Ron's shoulder, despite his protestations that it was fine.

          "Bloody hell, 'Mione, yes, it's fine!" His yelling drove her back a step involuntarily. He softened his tone, embarrassed. "Sorry, hon, it's jus' that I'm sure it's healed, an' I'll never get a better chance than this, even if I hadn't been on a broom in months before last week." Hermione nodded, hugged him, and went to sit with the others.

          The second Quidditch match of the season had gone poorly, as Gryffindor's game of musical Keepers took a fearful shelling from Ravenclaw. Even Harry catching the Snitch had not been nearly enough; he had done it to end the humiliation. The match against Slytherin, which would conclude the initial round of games, was scheduled for after Christmas. After a team discussion, Gryffindor decided to hold Keeper tryouts five weeks in advance. Then the selectee would have five full weeks of training prior to the match, no matter how bad they might be.

          Fred, George and Harry had all leaned on Ron to try, despite his injury. George once again had lent him a broom, and then the four of them had drilled for three days. Grey had even helped, teaching Ron several hand-eye coordination drills that he had learned for fighting. Ron felt confident, but he had no idea what the competition would be like. He also had no idea where he would get a decent broom if he was selected. Harry had given him the Firebolt for the tryout.

          The Saturday of the tryouts dawned cool and crisp. Fortunately, despite the imminent onset of December, snow had yet to fall. Except for Spike, the entire gang had turned out to watch Ron, establishing a camp on the nearby hilltop. Wrapped in a blanket, Willow reclined in Grey's arms. Tara, Giles, Neville, Ginny and Harry surrounded them, eating lunch from a picnic basket provided by Winky and her fellow house-elves. Hermione walked up and took a seat on Harry's left, shaking her head at the picnic basket's origin. With delight, Willow noticed that Ginny was less than subtly leaning against Harry's right arm. The boy seemed not to notice Ginny's advances, but Willow could tell the girl had subtly begun to worm her way into his life. As Ginny shifted her weight, Harry unconsciously draped his arm around her. Willow nudged Grey, who saw the two of them and nodded. He pulled her closer, warming her outside and in.

          "So what exactly will Ron have to do?" Giles barely understood the rules of Quidditch.

          "Simple," Harry responded. "Our Chasers will scrimmage our Beaters, who will let them take shots on each Keeper candidate. Then, all of them will work together to try and score, as they would in a normal game. The only difference is there's no distance limit for Fred and George to harass the Keeper with Bludgers. McGonagall and Oliver Wood, who used to be the captain, are watching from the announcer's booth. He came in especially for this. McGonagall and the seventh-years will choose, but Wood's recommendation is what really matters. He was a great Keeper, the best in a long while." Giles clearly understood no better, but he let the matter drop.

          "Where are the o-other candidates?" Tara could see only Ron near the field.

          "Over there." Harry pointed to four boys and two girls sitting in the stands. All six of them seemed nervous, swaying from side to side or jabbering to each other. "Ron's last."

          McGonagall blew her whistle, signaling the commencement of the program. Each of the first six went in turn; all of them had, at one time or another, been part of the Keeper rotation. One young man, a third-year named Michael Silver, stopped all but three of the shots and stayed on the broom the entire time. All of his misses, though, came in game situations. The Gryffindor players, and Wood in particular, knew he would be weak in a real contest. 

          The others were less impressive; none of them managed to balance the art of dodging the Bludgers and handling the Quaffle with any skill. Fred and George Weasley consistently used the Bludgers to keep the candidates from settling into a rhythm, as they often did to opposing Keepers. Each of the recruits grew increasingly nervous and frustrated, often leading to a painful impact courtesy of the twins.

          As the sixth candidate left the field, Harry silently mourned the loss of the Quidditch Cup. He could see his teammates looking equally dispirited, and wondered if they would even bother to put Ron through his paces.

          Ron's turn finally arrived. Watching the other obviously weak candidates made his stomach churn and now, when he had to fly, his legs felt like oatmeal. Above him, Fred and George traded a look. They had argued repeatedly over whether to go easier or harder on their brother. He knew their tricks from years of fooling around; Wood and McGonagall knew it, and so would be looking extra closely at Ron. Fred nodded, and George returned it. Harder. They had a few new tactics worked out, and now seemed a good time to use them. Neither had any doubt whether Ron could handle them, and the judges had to see his skill rather than his familiarity.

          Ron flew up to guard the goal. As the whistle blew, his mind went blank. The Chasers came on, harried weakly by Fred and George. The Quaffle seemed huge as Katie Bell tossed it towards Ron. He spun the broom hard, accelerating quickly and snatching the Quaffle from the air with his left hand. It had been an easy opening shot, but he suddenly knew he could do this. With enthusiasm, he tossed the Quaffle back and readied himself for the rest.

          They repeated the exercise six times; the passing became more intricate and the shots harder to stop, but Ron got them all. The next ten came even faster and harder, with his brothers now aiding the opposition. Ron missed two, but made up for it on the last one. 

          Fred and George came at him first. They batted the Bludger back and forth, almost as if passing the Quaffle. Once Ron finally caught their rhythm, George slammed it straight for him, forcing him to move sharply left. Ron lost track of the Quaffle while dodging the Bludger, but picked it up again as Bell, hiding in the left corner, whistled it past his spot in front of the goal. He thought it had been a poor shot, but spied Melissa Norton, a fourth-year, waiting for the crossing pass on his far side. Skidding the broom sideways, he reversed field and forced a speed burst. He barely tapped her shot away, the Quaffle catching on the fingers of his fully outstretched right hand. The spectacular deflection made the scar tissue on his back howl, but he ignored it as the crowd went wild below him. The Gryffindors cheered, Fred and George the loudest of all. Then he heard McGonagall's whistle.

          "I think we've seen enough," she said gleefully over the P.A. system. "Welcome to the team, Mr. Weasley."


	41. Idle Hands I: Rumbles

          Jess loved muggle popcorn.

          Her addiction to it always made Grey laugh; for Christmas every year he would buy her, in addition to her real gift, an enormous tub of it. The tubs came from an elderly widow who lived in London and sold it out of her house. They found it during a search for a nest of vampires, and she made all kinds of odd flavors. Jess favored apple cinnamon and strawberry.

          The bag in her hand contained the regular butter variety, which she loved, but she found herself wishing for one of the others. She missed Grey. Times like this, wandering about without the presence of her master or her magic, were by far the worst. Those were the times when she would picture the two versions of him, hers and the one she created, and feel inordinately guilty. 

          Before Halloween, she watched him on and off for days. With that redhead, Willow, he seemed more like the Grey she had fallen in love with. Open, warm, funny, but with a tiny hint of awkwardness that she loved. He had always been an unrepentant geek, a fact most women deplored and Jess found irresistible. 

          Away from Willow, she glimpsed her creation. A dark warrior, brooding and silent. Quick to strike and deeply guarded. She hated that side of him. As an auror, he had seen his share of death and loss; his reaction had always been to hide, to spend days in silence until she could coax him out of it. Her change had allowed him to maintain that armor at all times. The part of her that was still Jess O'Brien deeply regretted it.

          Shaking off the heavy thoughts, she looked at the two arrow-shaped signs in front of her. Did she want to head for the dragons or the unicorns? Easy choice there. She quickened her pace, hoping to get one more inspection of the dragon cages before closing.

          "I feel like we're in one of those movies…"

          Willow, naked in the bed beside him, looked at him askance.

          "Which movies would that be, exactly? Because I have certain moral limits, buster." Grey laughed. The moonlight seeped through the window, highlighting her alabaster skin. He caressed her shoulder lightly, entranced by it.

          "You have a dirty mind." She pouted innocently, then burst out laughing. "I meant, one of those movies where one of the men says 'it's quiet,' and somebody else says, 'yeah, too quiet.' Then they all get sliced and diced. Something has to be brewing."

          "You mean with Jess."

          "She hates to sit still. Even with Voldemort holding her leash, she must be chomping at the bit. Halloween was a big victory for her, even if it wasn't the one she wanted. With all of the other attacks, they sent our side reeling."

          "It's been more than a month, though. Any chance for a 1-2 punch is gone."

          "Not really. Those books on the wall? The military ones? One thing they emphasize is that the tendency for a wounded enemy is to lock the barn door after the horse is gone. But if you give them some peace, the doors begin to unlock. Did you notice that no one in the _Daily Prophet is yapping about removing Fudge or closing Hogwarts anymore? People have grown complacent. That's when you hit them to make them feel completely unsafe."_

          "Did you ask Dumbledore?"

          "Yeah. No one's heard anything useful, though. I guess I'm just paranoid."

          She kissed him.

          "Wanna bet I can find a way to take your mind off things?"

          "Professor–"

          "Hermione, for the last time. We have worked together for months. When we are not in class, I must insist that you call me Giles."

          "G-Giles," she said tentatively. With Willow and Tara, it was easy; they were young, like big sisters. Giles and her father were the same age. "Giles, I think I found something."

          "What's that, my dear?"

          "Look at this spell. It's sort of like the gypsy curse you showed me. Angel's curse? But it looks like it works for evil, not souls. It's not what we want, exactly, but it is interesting."

          Giles took the book from her and began to read. Hermione eyed him apprehensively. She had learned more about the workings of magic during these sessions than in four years at Hogwarts. She had been astounded at the depths of the magic that had been discovered. She had also been very, very scared.

          "I believe you are correct. This spell seems to draw the essence of evil from somewhere, I can't tell exactly where, and … infect a person with it." He looked at the name. _Plague of Hades_. A vile title for a vile concept.

          "If there's a spell like that, mustn't there be a counterspell? Or possibly the reverse? A spell to infect someone with goodness? If we fail to find a way to remove her magic, we could try something like that."

          "An interesting concept, Hermione. It's possible, of course, that one has not been invented. We should certainly look, however. Try the _Remnants of Merlin_ for a start."

          "Shouldn't be out and about, this time of night. Creepy crawlies an' all that."

          "Oh. The vampire." Draco kicked a pebble off of the roof and watched it spiral out of sight. "Joy."

          "Well, you're quite the little arsehole, aren't ya? What are you doin' on my roof?"

          "S'not yours."

          "Bloody pissant," Spike said, turning to leave. The sound of the boy's voice stopped him.

          "How is it that you're a vampire and you're protecting the school?"

          Spike spun and walked back.

          "So that's it, then? Thinkin' 'bout you're father and his evil ways, eh?" Draco said nothing. "Seen you up here a few nights a week since Halloween, you know."

          "You know about my father?"

          Spike lit a cigarette. The acrid smell of burning tobacco filled the air.

          "Wasn't always a goody-goody. Lucius Malfoy's name is respected in the dark world."

          "He's an arrogant prick."

          "Of course. How else would his name get to be respected?"

          "I'm not like him."

          "Never said you were, mate."

          "You didn't answer my question."

          Spike took a pull on the cigarette and thought about his answer. He knew the boy was wondering if he had no choice about following his father's path.

          "Got put in a situation where I couldn't do evil. Hurt my head, literally. After awhile, I needed to work out my frustration. Tried being good, and it worked out. Turns out it's more interesting, you want the truth." Spike decided explaining about Buffy wouldn't be worth the effort.

          "Is it hard?"

          "Was for me. Wouldn't be as bad for you. You're human; you can change your nature. I had to have it changed for me. I think the question you need to ask yourself, boy, is if it's harder not to."

          Later that night, Harry's scar began to burn.

          He woke with a start, his hand on his head and the debilitating pain coursing through him. Before he could cry out, everything went black and he began to see.

          First he saw the woman from Halloween. She floated, laughing, above a grassy plain. As she laughed, she hurled curse after curse at Grey, who blocked them all. Then she landed, and they began to fight hand to hand.

          Harry's vision shifted. He saw Willow and Tara holding hands. They appeared to be chanting, with Dumbledore next to them waving his arms. In the distance, he could see dragons of all colors laying waste to a village with their fiery breath.

The scene changed again. He saw Spike chained to a ceiling. A pale vampiress with dark hair cut his chest and back with an enormous silver knife. Harry recognized Drusilla. The blonde gritted his teeth but refused to cry out. Above Spike, in the balcony of the room, Harry saw Neville, Hermione, and Ron. They seemed poised to strike, and didn't notice the figure in dark robes behind them.

The final scene took Harry by surprise. He and Ginny stood back to back, vampires all around them. Both had looks of grim determination on their faces. Two of the vampires lunged.

The vision ended, and Harry screamed.


	42. Idle Hands II: Ignition

          They slipped into the park in singles and pairs, each with a predetermined list of targets and a precise schedule. The first cage door would open exactly at midnight. She figured Dumbledore, Grey and the rest would need at least two hours to get here. She needed several hours of darkness once they arrived.

          It was going to be a hell of a party.

          The frantic banging at Grey's door woke them both from their doze.

          "I got it," he said, rising and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He could hear Cadogan yelling from ten feet away. The one doing the banging turned out to be Ron. "Ron, what is it? Shouldn't you be…"

          "It's Harry," Ron shouted, cutting Grey off. "His scar – he's had a vision. You need to come right now." Duly alarmed, Grey told Willow to get dressed and meet him at the Gryffindor common room. "And find Giles and Dumbledore," he called over his shoulder.

          When they arrived, Neville had Harry propped up on some pillows. He looked completely green.

          "What happened? Ron said you had a vision?"

          Harry nodded.

          "We've got serious trouble. I had four visions. They're attacking some place. Right now. I could feel it."

          "Who? What place?"

          "That woman, the dark-haired one from Halloween. I couldn't tell where. There was a lot of open space, and some fences. Lots of Death Eaters running around. The two of you were fighting … fists, not magic." Grey blanched, but nodded for Harry to continue. Jess knew everything he did about hand to hand combat, and could enhance her own speed and strength magically. "Then I saw Willow, Tara and Dumbledore. They were doing a powerful spell. I saw dragons flying all over the place."

          "What kind?"

          "All kinds. Ones I never heard of before. I think they were trying to contain the dragons. Then the vision shifted again. I saw Spike and Drusilla. She was torturing him. Ron, Neville and Hermione looked like they were trying to save him, but there were Death Eaters behind them." He looked at Ron. "It was on some balcony. Make sure you look behind you." Ron nodded.

          "The last vision?"

          "Me and Ginny, vampires all around."

          Giles, Dumbledore, Willow and Hermione chose that moment to burst in.

          "We've got trouble," Grey said.

The muggle residents of the village of Cansbury had always been blissfully unaware of what sat just beyond the town borders. Wizards accounted for half of the population of four thousand, however, and they knew very well what resided there.

Almost two hundred years earlier, the Ministry of Magic had chosen to place the British Magical Wildlife Refuge on a lightly wooded area outside of Cansbury. Essentially, the Refuge served as a zoo for magical creatures big and small.

Jess loved the zoo almost as much as she loved popcorn.

She had decided to bring the zoo to Cansbury, more or less. With great glee she watched as her Death Eaters opened cage after cage, allowing the animals to run rampant. Most of them, hungry for real food, headed for the town.

A Norwegian ridgeback, the first dragon released, threw back its head and roared before swooping down on some townspeople out for a late stroll. It swallowed four in one bite, then began spraying fire.

A pack of gnolls, similar to the ones she had summoned on Halloween, joined with a pack of goblins and busted their way into one of the crowded saloons. Patrons began to fly through windows at breakneck speed.

An ogre bashed an elderly muggle woman over the head with his ham fist. When she fell, he picked her up and bit off her head.

A unicorn, frightened beyond anything it had ever known, skewered a pair of lovers holding hands as it raced to flee a pursuing bugbear.

The carnage went on and on, and she knew they still had at least half the cages left to open. She rose even higher to get a better view.

Twenty minutes later, the real fun began. She had known they would arrive quickly, and here they were. Decked out in their red and blue robes and looking for trouble.

Her Majesty's Royal Guardians. The elite society of aurors. God, she hated them. 

Jess turned to the Death Eater on her right, floating along with her.

"Malfoy."

"Yes, mistress?" 

"Pull our people back to the dragon pens. I'm going to go and have some fun with the heroes over there. Remember, they are not to engage anyone yet, nor are they to leave."

"Yes, mistress." Malfoy nodded and left. Toadying weasel, she thought. She descended to face five of the aurors.

"I knew it would be you," the lead auror said.

"What, Adam? Does this mean you disapprove?"

"There's no need for this, Jess."

"You're right. I've been so misguided. Please, help me mend my ways." She landed in front of him and faked a sob. "I'm terrible. Evil. I need to be helped." Adam actually took a step towards her, his hand outstretched, before he recognized her tone. She barked a laugh. "You idiot. I hate that you people are so stupid, you know? This is for Grey." She raised a hand and incinerated all five.

A concentrated burst of air slammed into her from the rear, knocking her forward. As she spun to face another group, she smiled playfully. This would be fun.

          The emergency owl arrived in the middle of the debate. Dumbledore nearly dropped the letter when he read its contents.

          "I'm afraid this conference is at an end. I must leave immediately. They are indeed attacking."

          "Where?" Grey wondered what Jess had chosen for her big show.

          "The Refuge."

          "Outside of Cansbury?"

          "Indeed.

          "Oh, shit. The dragons, of course."

          "What's the refuge?" Willow, Tara and Giles all looked confused, but Willow asked the question.

          "Giant zoo," Grey said. "Dragons, unicorns, ogres. They even have an undead house. It sits right outside Cansbury, which has a few thousand people, including muggles. I'm not surprised. She loves the zoo."

          "She does?" Grey shrugged and nodded.

          "What does the letter say, Albus?" Giles asked.

          "It seems they sent in the Royal Guard and haven't heard from them. They would like me to intervene." Seeing the looks on the Sunnydale faces, he quickly continued. "The Royal Guard is an elite auror response unit."

          "Jess hates them," Grey added. "We applied last year. They took her, but not me, because I had no magic. That's the worst group they could have sent. They're probably already dead." Dumbledore nodded gravely.

          "Willow, Tara, Grey, I would like you to accompany me. I fear Miss O'Brien has done something more than I can handle alone." 

They nodded.

          "W-what about the rest of Harry's vision? The part with Drusilla and Spike," Tara said.

          "We'll have to risk it," Giles answered. "We should be well defended here anyway. This clearly takes precedence. We shall have to put everyone into their common rooms as soon as possible, and bar the doors." McGonagall and Snape nodded. They had been thinking the same thing. "I must find Spike." The Watcher turned to Tara and Willow. "Do be careful."

          Several floors below the impromptu command meeting, Pansy Parkinson and her mother walked to one of Hogwarts' grand arching doorways.

          "Now Pansy, do like I told you."

          "Yes, mum." The girl felt dazed and foggy. Her mother had cast a spell to wake her faster, but it seemed not to be working. She wondered idly why her mother's friends needed her to invite them in. She saw a score of them standing just beyond the archway. One of them, a pale woman with dark hair, smiled at her. She carried a doll. "Please come in, everyone."

          "Good girl, Pansy," her mother said, her voice emanating from the black opening of her dark robes. The pale woman walked over the threshold and leaned down to speak to her. Then Pansy felt a pinch on her neck, and she passed out.


	43. Idle Hands III: Firestorm

          Malfoy watched as the girl reveled in the carnage. He had to admit that she orchestrated the attack with a beautiful rhythm. She had killed enough of the aurors that the Royal Guard would not be a threat for years, which had been one half of the goals for their end of the attack. Using the creatures as cover, she limited their numerical and talent advantage and now, with only isolated pockets fighting the escaped creatures, she was moving on to the second portion. Though he burned at the necessity of kowtowing to her, he very much enjoyed the spectacle unfolding in Cansbury.

          "Malfoy."

          "Yes, mistress?" They stood in the center of the now empty dragon pens.

          "They should be arriving soon. Harry them as best you can. I doubt they will bring those children, that Potter and his friends, but they will probably have the Watcher and the vampire, and possibly even the Slayer. None of those can be allowed to enter the Refuge. I wish to face Grey without other interference."

          "I concur, mistress." She turned her black eyes on him, and Lucius Malfoy feared instant death.

          "When I want your opinion, I will give it to you, you sniveling worm. Now, make certain that our people engage in hit and run attacks only. The longer we drag this out, the better. I will handle my fiancee; you need not spare any forces to aid me." Malfoy nodded, afraid to speak. "I want to know the second they arrive."

          Spike never felt so stupid in his life. He left Draco on the roof, pondering his future. Spike doubted the boy could join his father's evil forces now; his distaste for old Lucius ran very deep. Lost in thought comparing Draco's circumstance and his own, he blundered right into them.

          "My Spike," Drusilla said. Her voice still carried the same currents of lace underthings and violent dismemberment.

          "Dru," he said, taking in the dozen minions she had with her. "Surprised to see you, luv. How are things?"

          "You've been nice," she went on, not truly listening. "Now, we'll just have to make you naughty. I've found the perfect room for it, too. Come along, Miss Edith. If you're good, mummy will let you watch."

          One of the minions poked him in the side with a sword. He had no choice.

          The floo network had gone down in Cansbury. Hardly surprised, Dumbledore whistled up his enchanted coach. As they landed at the outskirts of the town, Willow could hardly absorb the sight.

          More than half the town lay gutted. Smoking hulks of buildings puffed dying breaths of smoke, while others leaked rivers of flame from windows and doors. The screams drowned out any semblance of conversation. As a dark undercurrent they could hear the beating of wings and the stomping of hooves.

          "My god," Dumbledore said. He had not been prepared for the magnitude of the carnage. "Willow, Tara … we must contain this."

          "How?" Willow asked.

          "M-maybe an air dome? It would keep the dragons contained if we made it big enough," Tara said. She had read about the spell earlier in the week.

          "That requires a tremendous amount of power," Dumbledore said. "I do not, I fear, have the necessary capability to create a large enough one."

          "What's an air dome?"

          "A shell of concentrated air, Will. Sort of like a force field."

          "It's elemental magic like the flamey ice, right, professor?"

          "Yes, Willow, it is." 

          "Could the three of us do it, if you drew from our power?" He thought about the mechanics of that.

          "Yes. It will draw on quite a bit more of your reserves than you have used previously, though. You may risk losing control." She thought about that and decided she could handle it. 

          "I can deal with elemental magic. I have been for years. We don't have a whole lot of Plan B's." Dumbledore agreed, knowing it would be a difficult but workable solution.

          "I'm going in there," Grey said. He had been quietly observing the discussion and the town.

          "You can't …"

          He cut her off.

          "I'm useless here. Somebody has to get in there and disrupt what they're doing. You're all needed here, right?" Dumbledore nodded. "Case closed."

          Cautiously, Willow acquiesced. She put her arms around Grey and kissed him.

          "Be careful. She's here. I can feel her."

          "You too." He slipped his impassive mask on and took off for the Refuge at a dead run.

          Spike had disappeared, and Giles had no more time to look. Two children from Slytherin house, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, were missing as well. Dumbledore and the others would arrive at the Refuge in less than an hour. Any attack that would come, would come now. 

In a cruel irony, the thought finished just as he heard the rising tide of shouts and crashes.

          Rounding the corner, he found Snape and Malfoy hurling curses in all directions. Several vampires, fangs bared and growling, closed on the retreating pair. Pulling a stake from his robe, Giles took one of them from behind. The other vampires never noticed, nor did his allies.

"Snape! This way is clear! Hurry!" The Potions Master caught Giles' voice over the din. He grabbed Malfoy's shoulder and roughly shoved him towards the Watcher.

          "ENFUEGO!" Snape's curse created a curtain of fire in front of him. Tapestries began to smolder and catch as the fire spread down the hall in both directions. The flame easily consumed the vampires; Snape barely triggered a countercurse before it finished him off as well. Breathing heavily, he limped back to Giles and Malfoy. His left leg had not escaped the fire entirely, and he could feel the burnt skin cracking as he walked.

          "The Parkinson girl?" Giles asked.

          "No sign," Snape responded, shaking his head.

          "How could vampires get in the castle? Don't they need an invitation?"

          "Yes, Draco," Giles answered. "I believe that is where we will find the body of Miss Parkinson, next to whatever door they entered." His eyes hardened. "Come along quickly. Gryffindor is closest. We can leave Mr. Malfoy there and discuss a course of action with Minerva." Snape nodded, and they headed for the stairwell.

          "Someone needs to investigate," Harry was saying when Giles walked in.

          "You don't even know if he's there," Neville countered.

          "I saw it. It took awhile to figure it out, but I know that room." He saw Giles listening intently. "I think I know where Spike is. I saw the room in my vision, but it took some time to figure it out."

          "Where would that be, Mr. Potter?" Snape growled.

          "Your classroom, Professor." The older man gaped. "I forgot at first, but it has that viewing platform in the rear. That's the balcony I saw."

          "We need Spike if we're to stop Drusilla," Giles commented.

          "What do you suggest, Rupert?" McGonagall had just entered from the girls dormitory, flanked by Hermione and Ginny. "Vampires are your area of expertise, after all."

          Giles walked over to a chair by the hearth. Abruptly, he lifted it into the air and snapped a leg off over his knee.

          "We need some additional stakes. Then I think the three of us," he indicated the three teachers, "should attempt to retrieve Spike." He looked at Harry and his friends. All of the other students had fled the common room for the safety of their individual dormitories. "You are not under any circumstances to leave this room. We saw several vampires in the hall; based on that, Drusilla will have at least ten more with her. If this is related to the attack at the Refuge, as Harry's vision indicated, she will likely have a number of Death Eaters. It is far too dangerous for the five of you to enter the fray." They nodded.

          Snape waved his wand and whispered an incantation. A pile of stakes appeared on the floor. Giles and McGonagall each grabbed two, as did Snape.

          "Do not leave this room," Giles emphasized. The Gryffindors nodded. Without another word the three professors departed.

          "What now?" Ron asked. Harry answered him, his voice quiet.

          "We wait."

          The knife twisted in Spike's side. He bit a hole in his lip to hold in the scream. Blood flowed from his mouth, and Drusilla's cold tongue ran along his jaw.

          "Oh, Spike, you've been such a bad boy. I can still feel her on you, you know. Your precious Slayer."

          "What are you here for, Dru?"

          "Why, to get my Spike back, of course." She gave him the look she always did, the one where she wasn't really seeing him. "And to play with all the nice kiddies. He wanted me to come and play. That's why he gave me all these friends."

          "Who's he, luv?"

          "The snake man," she said dreamily. He had forgotten how completely off her rocker Drusilla was. If anything, she seemed even more disconnected then when he last saw her. "Do you remember the animal show?"

          "What, pet?"

          "The cartoons with the little animals, and the bad snake man."

          "Not a bloody clue what you're talking about. Sorry."

          She lashed out viciously, raking his face with her nails.

          "Miss Edith says I should carve the Slayer out of you. Would you like that, Spike?" She slid the knife from his body. "I think I'll start with your legs."

          As the knife gouged his thigh, Spike gave in and screamed.

          The main thoroughfare of Cansbury barely existed any longer. Grey saw red and blue draped bodies, some beaten and others charred. The Royal Guard. Other bodies littered the streets, wizard and muggle alike. As he dodged between a stream of marauding combatants and frightened civilians, he forced himself to ignore the consequences of not stopping to help them. He turned left onto a residential street with no sign. Some of the houses were rubble, but many were intact. The boulevard itself opened widely, and he raced down it to the outskirts of town. Five hundred yards away he could see the gates to the Refuge.

          Between his location and the gates, four Guardsmen battled eight Death Eaters. They weren't winning. With no real choice in the matter, Grey lunged into the fray. His lightsaber came out unbidden, the low buzzing still audible amidst all the carnage. He came up next to one of the aurors, a small man named Jaret that he knew from training. Jaret hurled fireballs at two of his assailants, who easily dodged; they responded with two curses, one brilliant blue and the other deep black in color.

          Grey leaped in front of Jaret and deftly intercepted the spells.

          "Grey! What the bleedin' 'ell are you doing 'ere?"

          Grey didn't respond, choosing instead to race forward and skewer the nearest Death Eater. The other turned on him, flinging a pulsing red curse. Unwilling to find out what it was, Grey intercepted it and lashed out with his right foot. His kick caught the dark wizard on the shoulder. Startled by the physical attack, the Death Eater froze. One of Jaret's fireballs finished him off.

          "Thanks," Jaret said, running over. "Right bastards, these ones are. Hit 'em others from behind?" Grey nodded.

          The other Death Eaters had taken out one of the aurors. Jaret and Grey circled around behind them as they closed on the last two; Jaret's voice rang out loudly.

          "TERRA DISRUPTO!" A brown sphere shot from his wand, landing among the robed figures. The ground began to roll beneath the Death Eaters, as if someone shook out a green bed sheet. Miniature hills came to life and disappeared as quickly as they formed. All of the dark wizards flew into the air, heaved off their feet by the suddenly furious tumult. As they landed, they came face to face with the point of Grey's lightsaber. The battle ended quickly.

          Grey kept his lightsaber out. Despite his aid, all three aurors eyed him carefully.

          "Are you…"

          "Not with her," he told Jonathan, the youngest of the three.

          "What are yeh doin' here, then?" asked Donnie, the third man.

          "I work at Hogwarts, with Albus Dumbledore. He and two professors are trying to form an air dome."

          "Makes a good bit o' sense," Jaret said. "Where?"

          "Far side of main. They could use some cover." The three aurors nodded simultaneously.

          "What abou' you?"

          "I'm going in after her."

          "All those Death Eaters, plus her," Jonathan said. "You positive you don't need the cover?"

          "No," he said, his eyes burning. "Better that you help save some lives. I'm going to finish this. Alone."


	44. Idle Hands IV: Throwing Down

          "So?"

          "So what?"

          "When are we leaving?"

          "You heard them. We can't." 

          Hermione looked at Harry disapprovingly. They had vacated the common room and moved to the boys' dorm. The other fifth-years had gone to the older dorm or filtered back to the common room.

          "What do you mean, we can't? When has being told not to ever stopped us?"

          "It's not just that," Harry said. "I saw what will happen. We'll be in serious trouble."

          "They're killing Spike. We can't just hide," Neville said. The determination in his voice surprised them all.

          "Look," Hermione argued, "Dumbledore is gone. So are the others. The three professors are going to try, but they'll be completely outnumbered. We can use the invisibility cloak."

          "We won't all fit," Ron pointed out.

          Harry remembered Buffy's words. He had to do what he thought was right, visions be damned.

          "We'll split up," Harry said. "Ron, Hermione, Neville, you guys head for Snape's. Take my father's cloak. Ginny, you and I will take the Marauder's Map …" He froze, feeling inordinately stupid. "The map! Of course!" He dove into his trunk, tossing aside possessions of all sorts as he dug it out. "I was right," he said once it was activated. "Spike and Drusilla are in Snape's classroom. There's the three professors, heading that way. All these other names must be vampires and Death Eaters."

          "'Cor! There's got to be fifteen names roamin' the halls," Ron burst out. Harry considered that for a minute.

          "Ginny, you and I will take the map. These guys don't know Hogwarts well. We can ambush them." She gulped and nodded. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

          "No, I do," she said. "Just a little nervous." Harry smiled at her, and she felt some of her fear recede. She couldn't tell if she was more nervous about facing vampires or being alone with him.

          "Me, too," he said sympathetically.

          "Is my father on that map?" The voice came from the doorway. Harry looked it over quickly.

          "No, Malfoy, he isn't. Were you expecting him?"

          "Look, Potter…" Draco paused, deciding he could burn bridges later. "The bastard pissed me off. He could be here, and if he was I would want a piece of him. As it is, I'm thinking a pile of vampire dust would look well on the Slytherin mantle."

          "So you're a good guy now, Malfoy?" Ron's sarcasm rolled out thick enough to drown him. "Thought this was the wrong side. The riffraff."

          "It's still the riffraff, Weasley. I mean, look at…" Realizing where he was heading, he nearly bit his tongue to keep from finishing. In his head, he began a silent chant: _I am not my father. I am not my father. "Look, I just want to help out. This is my home, too."_

          "Well, bugger off. We don't need help from you."

          "Ron. Quit it," Harry said sternly. If they were going to ask him to make the decisions, he would damn well make them. They had no time to be picky. "We're in too much danger. Draco, you want in?"

          "Yeah."

          "Then you're in. You're with me and Ginny."

          It had been years since Spike felt this much pain. Since that Glory bint, he figured, though that had lasted a lot longer.

          Even the Slayer, for all her kink and hostility, had never put him through something like this. The floor of Snape's classroom had been stained a deep, rich red. Dru marred each of his limbs with cuts; a human would have been dead after losing half this much blood. 

          "So are we through yet, luv?" His voice wobbled as it spilled from his mouth.

          "Poor Spike. Are you tired? Don't you want to play?" 

          The blonde vampire resisted the strong urge to pass out. He had to keep her interested, until one of those bloody fools could come to his rescue.

          "I am tired, Dru. You've beaten me, pet. Can you get rid of these idiots, so we can be alone together?"

          "Will you make it up to me, Spike?"

          "A thousand times over, luv." He wondered why she couldn't see the Slayer on him anymore. Oh, right. She had carved off all the bits where she saw the Slayer. Whatever the bleedin' hell that meant, other than gouges in his arse.

          Drusilla shooed the three minions and three Death Eaters out of the room. Then she caressed Spike's face, leaning down and lapping up some of the blood on his chest.

          "Miss Edith doesn't believe you, you know. She says you're lying." Her words pierced his ears in her childish, lilting voice. He had never quite learned where Miss Edith ended and Drusilla began, but he knew he was about to be vacuum fodder regardless.

          Drusilla pulled away, walking directly over to the doll. She slapped it, hard, admonishing it as if it were alive. Then she turned it to face the wall.

          "You've been bad," she told it, "and now you can't watch mummy take back her Spike." She glided over to Spike and kissed him, cutting his lip lightly with her fang.

          Above them, Ron, Hermione, and Neville watched from underneath the cloak.

          "Can you unlock his chains, 'Mione?"

          "I don't know, Ron. We're far away, and I don't know what the range is."

          He was about to ask her to try anyway when two of the Death Eaters returned to the room. Drusilla whirled around, angry at the intrusion. None of the kids noticed the third robed figure creeping up behind them.

          Willow and Dumbledore beat the wave of Death Eaters back easily enough, though the air dome spell had been disrupted in its early stages. One round of counterspells and curses scattered them back towards the Refuge; their retreat happened so rapidly that Dumbledore wondered if the attack had only been a feint, and if so, what they were drawing attention from. Though he realized this meant Grey was probably in a great deal of trouble, his first priority had to be restarting the spell. 

They were a bit more than half finished with the second try when the screeching began.

          Willow heard them before she could see them, a wild, cackling swarm of angry old women. If not for the noise, she would have thought it was a flock of birds flying too low. Instead, she recognized an incoming pack of harpies – grotesque half-woman, half-bird monstrosities. They appeared to be female torsos jammed onto the back end of a turkey and given wings.

          The harpies swooped down, shrieking and spitting their acidic saliva. Dumbledore, his concentration split as he tried to hold the fledgling dome in place, tried to end the threat with several well-placed fireballs. He reacted too late. Sharp talons dug into his robes, knocking him to the ground. Willow, her space clear for the moment, heated the air above him, generating a shield of flame. Several of his assailants flew through the flame, but a few managed to veer off and come around for another pass.

A dozen yards away, Tara felt a gob of spit burn through her robe. She dove to the ground, rolling in the dirt to scrape it off. She managed to avoid a major burn, but knew that it would hurt for days. From her knees, she began chanting, hoping to create a defensive barrier around them.

          One of the harpies descended to rake Willow with her claws. Reflexes honed by years of facing vampires saved her. She dropped to the earth and quickly hopped back up, dodging under the lethal knives; as she rose, she hurled jagged icicles at her attacker. Bleeding in a dozen places, the harpy careened from the sky and crashed in a heap.

          Shielded by Willow's flame, Dumbledore regrouped and began waving his wand. After thirty seconds, the remaining harpies began to shrink. Each one seemed to fold in on itself until it resembled a large Quaffle, then a regular one. Finally, they all changed color to match the regulation Quaffles at Hogwarts.

          "Wow," Tara said. Willow nodded.

          "Triumph for transfiguration. Cool."

          "Ladies," Dumbledore said, brushing dirt from his robes, "I suggest we get to work."

          Harry's group acquitted themselves well. They bagged four of the fifteen vamps, catching each one alone. Draco and Ginny could both perform the fireball spell now, forced to learn it by the situation. They had just entered a third floor hall when trouble struck.

          At last glance on the map, the hall contained a single name. Another person had come around the corner just as they had, though, and instead of facing a single vampire, they faced a vampire and a Death Eater.

          "Young Malfoy," the robed man rasped. "This should be fun."

          "INCENDO!" Harry's spell engulfed the vampire in flame, but the Death Eater sidestepped it. He laughed, a ripple of icy water on their skin.

          "Not bad, young mister Potter. Try this, though: CUMULO!"

          A concentrated tube of rain and wind, coupled with a deafening thunderclap in the center of the hallway, slammed into the unprepared trio. Harry and Ginny tumbled backwards, bouncing into a nearby stairwell and rolling down to the landing below.

          Draco, knocked back with equal force, managed to ram into a suit of armor.

          "I think I'll leave you alive and kill you at your father's feet," the Death Eater taunted. "Wouldn't that be lovely?"

          On the ground, Draco struggled to breathe. At least one rib had snapped. Maybe more.

          "Or maybe I'll let him kill you. He hates you quite a lot, you know."

          Forget the wit, Malfoy thought as he resisted the urge to reply. He felt his wand in his hand, and the anger burned more than his ribs.

          "EXPELLIARMUS!" The curse flew from Draco's wand and caught the stunned Death Eater by surprise. The dark wizard's wand flew out of his hands and down the hall. Draco readied a fireball, but thought better of it and opted for ropes instead. In seconds, the Death Eater slumped to the floor tightly bound.

          In the stairwell, a woozy Harry came to his knees. With her arm on his shoulder for support, Ginny rose shakily to her feet and helped him up. They traded grins, glad to be among the living.

          Then they heard the growls, and realized they were actually among the dead.

          The zoo was deserted. All of the Death Eaters seemed to be in Cansbury, wreaking havoc. Following the easily marked signs, Grey made his way swiftly to the dragon pens. Little more than cages, the pens were areas the size of a Quidditch field or larger; each had a three-dimensional cage around it. Jess floated in the middle of the largest one.

          "I'm sorry, the dragons aren't here today," she said, an evil grin on her face. "Perhaps you'd like to see the platypi, or maybe the souvenir store?"

          He stood just inside the gate, hands at his sides. His lightsaber sat in its holster. He said nothing, hoping to goad her into a mistake.

          "What, nothing to say? No hi, how are you, thanks for the dance?"

          Silence.

          "Look at you, all dressed up as the Jedi. Did I interrupt another costume party between you and the redheaded bitch? That's a little kinky, don't you think? Answer me, damn you!"

          In her rage, she fired another of her red eyebolts at him. Instantly, the lightsaber came up and took the bolt on the center of the blade.

          "Ooh, you found a real one. Let's test it."

          She summoned the black blades again. He knew she had found a favorite spell; four blades whistled through the air. Then he moved and parried, danced and slashed, and they were gone. A silvery globe shot from her hand. He swatted it away. Finally, she simply lashed out with bolts of lightning. The lightsaber shielded him from the crackling electricity, and she stopped.

          "Well, this is getting us nowhere. Works like a charm, though. The pathetic geek inside you must be wetting himself."

          "Why don't you come down here and fight me for real? Or are you afraid of some foolish squib?" He knew she wouldn't resist. She didn't, landing ten feet from him in a combat stance.

          "Listen to you. Taunting a powerful witch. Very naughty," she said, pausing to smile grimly. "Sure, why not?" She rushed him, her speed magically enhanced. With his left hand blocked her right fist, then twisted up with his right knee into her stomach. She spun backwards, evading the full force of the blow, and delivered a backfist to where his head had been. He ducked under that and sent a hard right into her stomach. On the upswing, he dropped two solid left jabs on her jaw, absorbing one in return. The combinations concluded, they stood a foot apart, each waiting for the other to move.

          She launched into a series of foot sweeps and follow-up strikes, but, having taught her the series of moves, he deftly avoided them and left her striking empty air.

          Warily, she backed off and sized him up. His skills had improved while hers declined. He fought with a ruthlessness she had never seen in him before. Without her magical speed she would have already lost. While she pondered, he decided to take control.

          Grey attacked, leading with his right foot. She blocked several kicks, but had to retreat as he pressed forward and a left foot eventually caught her jaw solidly. She went sprawling. Rolling over, she scrambled to her feet.

          "You kicked me in the face?" He heard her little girl voice, but the innocence didn't fool him this time. He pressed the attack, fists and elbows flying. Fully on the defensive now, she stopped most of his blows; several more good shots broke through anyway. The last one, a powerful forearm to the face, put her on the ground again. She could feel blood pouring from her broken nose and cursed herself for being baited into fighting him this way. She tried to focus, to bring her power to bear, but it wouldn't come.

          He loomed over her, the moon behind him and his face in shadow. An Angel of Death come for her at last. 

          For the first time ever, the thing that had been Jess O'Brien knew fear.

          "It's gone too far. I'm sorry."

          He drew the lightsaber.


	45. Idle Hands V: Crescendo

          Remembering Harry's vision, Ron turned around to make sure they were alone.

          He saw the hand reach out and snatch off the invisibility cloak. The face hid in the shadow of the hood. All three children turned in shock. Hermione gasped.

          McGonagall reached up and pulled her hood back, then motioned for quiet. Relieved, the three kids turned to watch the action. Below them, Drusilla was screeching incoherently at the two Death Eaters. One of them reached into his robes and came out with a stake; Drusilla attacked him, fists flying. McGonagall gestured for Hermione to open the cuffs.

          "_Alohamora," she whispered. The spell shot from her wand and Spike fell to the floor with a thud._

          The Death Eater with the stake took a particularly fearsome blow to the head. The hood fell back, revealing Giles' face. The other Death Eater, favoring one leg heavily, had his wand out and roared a spell to immobilize Drusilla. The four Gryffindors on the balcony came rushing down to the floor.

          Drusilla paused mid-bite. The pause held, and Giles quickly crawled away from her suspended form. Spike lay groaning on the floor as he bled.

          "Err… thank you, Severus," Giles forced out, his face pale with fright. Snape nodded.

          "Where did you guys get those robes?" Ron asked.

          "They had several minions and Death Eaters standing guard," Giles said. He made no mention of the fate of the vampires.

          "We told you three not to leave your rooms," McGonagall said. "What on Earth were you thinking?"

          "Can we discuss it later? We need to find Harry, Ginny, and Draco," Hermione said.

          "Where did they go?"

          "To hunt down the rest of the vampires roaming the halls."

          "What?!?" All three teachers cried out in unison.

          The small group of aurors made their way across Cansbury quickly. The animals ran amok, but they encountered no Death Eaters on their way to Dumbledore.

          "We're 'ere to 'elp," one of the men told Dumbledore. "Grey sent us."

          "Good, glad to have you," Albus said, relieved that not all of the aurors had died. "Please do keep these people and creatures away from us."

          "No prollem, Professor."

          "Thank you, Donnie."

          The aurors went to work, setting up in a triangle formation around the three spell casters and creating a web of defensive spells. Inside the triangle, Tara began to chant. Willow took her hand and felt their power join. After several gestures with his wand, Dumbledore grabbed the free hand of each girl, and the thrum of power in their ears increased noticeably.

          As he had asked Willow to do with the candle, Dumbledore pictured the town of Cansbury. Then he pictured the dome he wished to seal it in. His power could generate a dome less than a fourth the size of the one he desired. He began to pull on Tara's power, drawing it from her and into himself. He could feel the three of them lift off the ground.

          Tara's power allowed him to double the size of the bubble. To double it again, he would have to draw from Willow. Mentally cringing as he grabbed her power, he began to siphon it directly into the spell.

Willow's eyes went black beneath her closed eyelids. She felt him pulling the power out, blowing past the blocks placed by her subconscious. To speed the process, she began pulling as well, drawing deeper and deeper on her reserve.

          After an eternity, Dumbledore had what he needed. With the borrowed power, he enlarged a small dome into one two miles in diameter. He could feel it take root, then anchor itself to the Earth. The problem had been contained, for the moment.

          Next to him, Willow could feel the power vibrating. Why had he stopped? She had so much more to give. To prove it, she pulled out more and more, loving the feel of it coursing through her.

          Dumbledore and Tara drifted to the ground, but Willow remained. The three aurors and two professors stared at her in frightened fascination. Black energy clouds once again glowed around her fists, bucking and writhing in time with her heartbeat. Miniature lightning jumped from one to the other.

          "Willow?" Tara's voice was tentative, even without the stutter. Black eyes opened and turned on her.

          "What?" The tone was pure venom.

          "Y-your hands…"

          Willow looked down and laughed. It wasn't her laugh, though. The sound coming from her throat, a jarring, sharp-edged bark, cut their ears like a knife.

          "Don't even think about it," she said as Jaret raised his wand.

          "Miss Rosenberg?" She looked down at Dumbledore. "I do believe Mr. Grey requires our assistance. He will be most upset if he sees you in the same frame of mind as Miss O'Brien. I daresay it might end your association instantly, and you resemble her quite a bit at this moment."

          Tara had never heard a more harsh sentence in her life.

          Willow descended to the ground. She thought of what Grey would say if he saw this. The black clouds dissipated, and she allowed a tear to leak from her eyes. Scrunching her nose and closing them, she willed herself to calm down.

          "Thank you, Professor," she said once she regained control, glad he had prevented a catastrophe.

          "You're very welcome, my dear. Sometimes the right word at the right moment can be very useful. Now, let's clean up this mess, shall we?"

          Five vampires had Harry and Ginny surrounded. They growled hungrily, some with drool dripping from their fangs. The two Gryffindors stood back to back, just as in Harry's vision.

          Unlike the vision, though, Harry and Ginny reacted first.

          "INCENDO!" They shouted. Fireballs shot in opposite directions, killing three vampires in explosions of fire and smoke. The other two vamps, amazed at the sight and more than a little frightened, turned to run.

          Draco stood at the top of the steps, his face drawn into a deadly smirk. The vampires heard his rasping breaths, but the wand held their focus.

          "Going somewhere?" The vampires hesitated, caught between three drawn wands. Rather than race up the stairs, they doubled back and lunged for Harry. Two fireballs found their mark, striking the rear vampire in the chest and legs. The other one, unscathed from the attack, tackled Harry to the floor. Ginny leaped at it, afraid to burn Harry with the spell, but the vampire swatted her away with a clenched fist. It pinned Harry to the floor, fangs bared and ready to feast.

          Draco ran down the stairs, and without conscious thought jammed his wand into the creature's heart from behind. He watched happily as it dissolved in a cloud of dust.

          "Draco…" Harry gritted his teeth, forcing himself to do it.

          "Yes, Potter?" Malfoy grinned in triumph.

          He squeezed the words out, "Thanks." Malfoy nodded, enjoying Potter's difficulty.

          "What's left on the map?" The blonde Slytherin asked. Ginny, stunned but unhurt from the blow, pulled it from the pocket of her robe and looked it over.

"Looks like the Professors are in the halls again. They've got Spike, Ron and the others with them. That Drusilla person is still in Snape's office. None of the other dots seem to be moving."

          "Hey, look there!" Harry, leaning over Ginny's shoulder, pointed to a dot near the dining hall. "Pansy Parkinson. She must still be alive; Giles said it normally takes time for a vampire to rise, so she wouldn't be on here if they had turned her. We should go and bring her to Madam Pomfrey."

          The other two nodded, and they set off to collect the injured girl.

The buzzing blade hung inches from her face.

          Try as he might, Grey couldn't do it. He thumbed the switch, cutting the power to the blade.

          "Lost your nerve, lover?" Without leaving the ground, Jess slowly backed out of range. "Have to say, I'm surprised. You were always good with the follow-through."

          The night grew pregnant with the pause.

          "Kill me." His voice was a whisper.

          "What?" Her voice was a scream.

          "You heard me. Do it."

          "Why?"

          "What do you care? You're evil, right? Looking to up the body count, though it doesn't have too much higher to go tonight." 

          His voice, sad and disgusted and tired, sparked a war in her head. Part of her badly wanted to reach out and comfort him. How could that be? That part of her had departed, locked away by magic for all eternity. She could feel the power screaming to burn him as she had those meddlesome aurors. Doing so would be so easy. She pictured all the ways she could kill him. Freezing his blood. Tearing his head off. Stabbing him with his own lightsaber.

          Confused, she did nothing.

          "Go ahead," he said. "I know you've got plenty of other people to kill. I don't want to hold up your schedule."

          "Why do you want me to?" Was she really going to converse with him? She should be gutting him. 

          He stared at her, silent and motionless. Around them the sounds of her fun reverberated in night.

          "Why won't you?"

          "I still love you, Grey. I want you to be with me, not to die. Why won't you?"

          "Because I don't want anything to do with you. Except to get rid of you and bring her back." Her head shook in astonishment.

          "You still think you can save me, don't you?"

          "Of course I can. And I will."

          She nearly told him that she loved him for that. He read the conflict on her face. That part of her lost the battle, though, and she slowly got to her feet instead.

          "I don't need saving, hon. Sorry."

          "You aren't her. You're a thing of dark magic that hijacked her soul."

          "But you can't kill me?"

          "It's still her soul. I'd rather die than do that."

          "You love me that much?"

          "I loved her that much."

          "Past tense?" 

          He nodded.

          "So you, what, love that redheaded bitch now?"

          "Her name is Willow." He said it with such force that she inadvertently retreated a step.

          "Willow, then." Why was she retreating?

          "No. I like her. Someday I might love her."

          As he spoke the words, he saw her cheeks flush. He could almost feel the anger overtake her. One thing about her, he remembered. You could always count on her temper. 

          "You bastard!" As the words came, a wave of pure energy released from her, scorching the grass in a hundred-yard circle all around them.

          Grey stood untouched.

          "You can't do it either, can you?" Her dark side had less control than it appeared.

          She stared at him, not believing that he still lived.

          "Don't count on it next time," she said, hiding her turmoil in the threat. She snapped her fingers and disapparated.

          Alone in the dragon pen, Grey sighed. She was in there somewhere, fighting back. He just had to get her a little help.


	46. Idle Hands VI: Avengers Assemble

          Dumbledore, Grey and the girls stayed until the next afternoon. The Death Eaters fled just before Grey entered the Refuge, so the round-up of the escaped creatures, though difficult, was not hindered by outside attack. Along with the remaining aurors, Dumbledore's forces accomplished it quickly. The air dome succeeded, preventing the vast majority of dragons and flying creatures from escaping, much to the girls' delight.

          Cansbury had been virtually sacked. The loss of life seemed smaller afterwards, with final estimates topping out at 400.

          The tally of dead aurors came to 22.

          Grey explained to the other three that he and Jess fought to a draw before she disapparated. Willow could tell there was more, but knew better than to ask in public. She explained her loss of control, to which Grey responded by taking her in his arms. She immediately felt stronger.

          Pansy Parkinson's mother, who had been captured at Hogwarts, had aborted Drusilla's attempt to drain her daughter completely. Madam Pomfrey restored her quickly to good health, but the other Hogwarts students noticed her bad attitude seemed greatly subdued. Amazingly enough, Hogwarts suffered no other casualties. Cornelius Fudge owled Dumbledore, offering gruff words of thanks. As horrible an event as Cansbury had been, a rampage at Hogwarts would have been infinitely worse. For the time being, Fudge's interference in Dumbledore's affairs remained negligible.

          Spike, despite the torture, began to heal rapidly. Within a week he would be training with Grey and Neville again. Giles turned Drusilla over to Quentin Travers, who wanted to study her unique gifts. Spike, menacing despite his bedridden state, forced a promise from Travers that she would not be tortured or staked. 

Despite serious lectures from Giles and McGonagall, Harry and company knew they made the right decision. Harry wondered what would happen between them and Malfoy now, but decided to let it occur at its own pace. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to happen.

In Voldemort's camp, Jess seethed at her inability to kill Grey. At the same time, she found it harder and harder to tune out the part of her that missed him. Her master, despite the failure to bring carnage at Hogwarts, was pleased with her accomplishments. Each day, she tired a bit more of his orders.

"It's not fair if I don't let them decide, Will."

"This is guilt talking, Grey."

She rubbed lazy circles on his bare back with her right hand. He perched on the edge of the bed, clad only in his faded blue sweatpants; she reclined under the covers, her Hello Kitty pajamas keeping her warm. A dying fire glowed orange across the room, casting odd planes and shadows everywhere. They had returned from Cansbury three days earlier.

"Maybe. I do feel responsible. But I realized something when that energy flash went off." He had explained the whole story to her, including his speculation about the conflict he felt within Jess. "If anyone had been with me, they would have died."

He leaned down, looming heavily over her as he stared into her emerald eyes.

"I'm the only one who knows her. Everyone else is doing this at my request. It isn't fair. We at least need to all agree upon it. I won't have everyone risking their lives anymore without knowing why. Before it was hypothetical. Now … now I know she's there, and I know that I won't be able to bring her back by myself." After finishing the thought he returned to his former position.

"What if they change course?" Silently, she agreed with him, but she knew he needed to be absolutely sure before revealing his secrets and putting this to a vote.

"Then I go after it alone and hope I find it before they hurt her."

"Before you go putting on your Lone Ranger mask, which by the way would be kind of kinky but uber-sexy on you, you should remember that I'll help you regardless."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Who said you did? I heard no asking. These Willow ears are finely tuned instruments, and they heard no questions." She shifted to a softer, more serious tone. "Grey, I know what this means to you. I also know what you mean to me. How could I not help, when I care so much about you?"

"I think you'll like her," he said sadly, "if we can get rid of the darkness. She's such a beautiful person."

"She will be again," Willow said.

"How can you do this?"

"What?"

"Sit here like this with me? Say these things? Offer to help me bring my first love back into my life? I know how you must worry that I'll go back to her. I know you a little bit now. This is probably setting your insecurities ablaze."

"The fires are burning, yeah." A soft touch on his shoulder brought him around to face her again. "Something fierce, too. The thing is, it's kinda part of the Grey package, which I like. When this is over," Willow said with more confidence than she felt, "you'll be friends with her. She'll be in your life. I'll take my chances with you. I'm not the scared geek who mooned after Xander. I might feel like it inside sometimes, but she's not me anymore. I can take a risk for something I want. For someone I want."

Watching her face, he saw the pride she took in that, and also the pain that allowed her to get there. She was a real person, three-dimensional, the product of happies and hurts. He liked that she knew her limits and could push them, really push them, when the danger to heart and head was so great.

"I would feel so badly if I hurt you that way."

"I can't ask you not to. I know you don't do the hollow promise thing. Besides, this is so less of a risk than the others. Let's see, Xander? Lifelong best friend. Impossible to live without. Oz? Werewolf. Serious bite damage may ensue. Tara? Hello, woman. I mean, you're a nice Jewish boy. How much of a risk is that?"

"You're babbling," he said, cracking a small grin.

"Possibly."

He slid under the covers, wrapping an arm over her and leaning in. She felt his soft breath on her lips when he spoke.

"Willow, I hope you know how much I care about you. I honestly do not believe that, if and when we bring Jess back, I will want anything more than to end each day with several Willow kisses. If I did, if I even suspected, I would not have ever advanced beyond friendship with you."

"So I'm thinking I know your plans for ending today, then."

The next night, they came together.

He brought them to the library, at Willow's suggestion. She said libraries had good vibes for this sort of thing, and he took her word for it. When they walked in, the buzz of conversation dimmed noticeably.

Everyone had arrived. Hermione and Ron sat together, holding hands. Harry, Ginny, and Neville occupied the seats to their right. Spike, still injured but healing, smoked his ever-present cigarette as he reclined at the table. Giles, McGonagall and Tara had seats to Hermione's left; Willow joined them after giving Grey's hand a final squeeze. Grey had asked her to let him do this alone.

He walked to the front of the room, and conversation ceased.

"Thank you all for coming," he began. His stomach rolled and dipped with each syllable. "You've all been a part of something for awhile now, a fight that's drawn each of us in. Until now, some of us have known more about what's happening than others. Those of us with the knowledge, mostly Willow, Giles and me, have dictated our strategy, but asked you all to take part. Before I explain further about what we've done and what I want to do, you all need to know some things."

He leaned against the wall and glanced at Willow for support. She nodded, a half-smile on her face. The others watched him intently.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Grey?"

          "After Halloween, you asked me about the woman who attacked us." Hermione nodded. She had privately guessed that this was about the woman.

"Her name is Jess O'Brien. I met her when I first started training to be an auror. She was my partner. We were engaged to be married." He heard a sharp intake of breath. "Last winter…" He told the entire story, including what they didn't know about Halloween. Then he explained their inability to kill each other. At the end, the children had mostly gone pale. Professor McGonagall, her face tightly pinched, sat frozen in astonishment. Spike continued to puff his cigarette calmly. Tara put a hand on Willow's shoulder for reassurance.

"Here's the dilemma. To this point, we have been searching for ways to cure her." He nodded to Hermione. "I'm going to try and do that, whether you all join me or not. Willow has offered to help. The problem with that solution is that we may face much greater danger than by simply trying to kill her. Much as I might like to, I can't put you all in more danger unwittingly. I hope you'll help, but I can't force you to. I wouldn't want to force you to. Regardless of what you choose to do, though, you deserve to know the truth," he finished. His heart thudded rapidly in his chest.

          A quiet pall hung over the room. The lack of noise made the thumping of his heart noticeably louder. Each of the listeners looked around, attempting to gauge the group mood. Willow perched tensely in her chair, her eyes on Giles and Tara.

          "I-I don't know about anyone else," Neville said, shattering the silence with his soft voice, "and I don't know what I can really do, but I'll help. You've been nothing but nice to me since you got here, and I'd be glad to." They were keeping his training secret, but Grey knew that was what he meant. The Jedi nodded his thanks.

          "Me too," Hermione said. "I wish you had told me earlier, since I've been researching it for so long, but I'm not going to stop."

          "Guess that counts me in, too," Ron said.

          "And me," Harry added. "I mean, we've been to the Hellmouth together. Could it be worse?" The remark broke the tension, as all of the Sunnydale residents laughed.

          "I-I couldn't let Willow do it alone," Tara said.

          "Nor could I," Giles agreed.

          "She was my student, you know," McGonagall said to the group. "I rather miss having her about. It would indeed be nice to bring her back."

          "Engaged to the cupcake, eh, Jedi?" The wounds made Spike's voice scratchy and weak. "Not too shabby. As long as I get a good scrap or two out of it, and maybe some smokes, I'll help you out."

          Grey's heart slowed and he let out the breath he had been holding. He looked at Willow and smiled. She had predicted it, after all.

          "Thank you, all of you." A few stray tears made their way towards the floor. "If Jess were here, she would be absolutely bawling in appreciation. Hopefully, someday she'll have the chance to do that. This … means a lot to me." He paused, gathering himself and quelling his emotions. "Hermione?"

          "Mmm?"

          "While we're all here, why don't you share what you've found in your research so far?"


	47. Visitors

          Buffy knew immediately that she was in a Slayer dream. After so many years, she could easily recognize the difference in texture between those and her regular dreams.

          She occupied a primo table at the Bronze in this one. The band, which looked suspiciously like Dingoes, sounded good, playing to a packed dance floor. She realized it was the old Bronze, pre-Olaf, and reveled for a second in the familiarity.

          "Seems like a neat club," the dark-haired woman across the table said as she sipped her coffee. "Good coffee, too." Her jade green eyes bored in on Buffy, and her voice carried a soft Irish lilt.

          "Do I know you?"

          "No. Not yet. You will eventually. You know a friend of mine, Dave Grey."

          "Willow's Grey?"

          "Used to be my Grey, but yeah, that's the one."

          "Who are you?"

          "My name's Jess. Grey and I used to go together."

          "Willow told me about you! You're the evil witch!" Buffy moved to a defensive stance before she remembered it was a dream. Jess waved her to her seat.

          "I'd really rather not fight. Short on time, you see. It won't solve anything either, since I'm not her."

          "Huh?"

          "I made a mistake fighting an evil wizard. I drew on too much magic power and it … the term Grey used is 'hijacked my soul.' Except it's a little more complex than that, which is why I'm here."

          "Sounds not of the good." Buffy sat back down.

          "No, it's not. So I get locked away inside, while all the bad parts of me are running the show." The girl took another sip of coffee.

          "So why are you here talking to me? How are you here talking to me?"

          "Second question first. You," she pointed at Buffy, "are the Slayer. Slayer dreams are much easier to access. You live on a Hellmouth, again lowering the level of difficulty. The other night, Grey upset the balance a bit, gave me a little more leverage. Also, she's really powerful. I can grab a bit of it and sneak out without being noticed." 

Buffy nodded, only partially understanding the explanation.

"As for the why," Jess continued, "I need to get Grey a message, and you, hon, are the best I could do. Ready? You need to remember every word."

Focusing, Buffy nodded again.

"Call Grey David. I'm the only one allowed to. Tell him I want apple cinnamon this year." Buffy looked at her oddly. "What, you never use codes? Just tell him that. He'll know it's from me. Now, here's the message: Tell him that the Spring Rain won't be enough, that You-Know-Who did more than talk. What was done has to be undone on the inside. Did you get that?"

"David. Apple Cinnamon. You-Know-Who did more than talk. Spring Rain isn't enough. Undone from the inside."

Jess frowned at her, but accepted the brief repeat.

"That's it. And tell Willow …" The dark-haired girl choked up, surprising the Slayer. A tear sneaked out before she could stop it. "Tell Willow to take care of him."

"I will. "

"You need to go now." She came around and hugged Buffy, more tears in her eyes. "You'll remember all of this when you see him in person. And Buffy? Thanks."

"You're welcome," the Slayer replied drowsily.

"For what?" Dawn asked. Buffy sat up, once again returned to her bed. Daylight streamed through the windows. "I need you to drive me to school in ten, 'kay?"

Exams crept up on Harry and company with terrifying speed. All research into Jess' condition went on hold, preempted by abundant school work. Harry had mostly done well, even in Potions, and so wasn't too concerned. Hermione, of course, donned her drill sergeant persona with him, and especially with Ron. Their budding relationship gave her all sorts of new leverage to force him to study, though he seemed to feel that the rewards were greater this time around and actually griped less.

At breakfast on the first morning of midterms, an elderly barn owl dropped a note for Harry.

_Harry,_

_          I'm on my way. I know you're involved with the troubles at school, but try to stay safe as much as you can. Should see you around Christmas, if I can manage it. If any more trouble comes, owl Remus._

_                                      Snuffles_

          "Look at this," he said, handing it to Ron and Hermione.

          "That'll be good, then," Ron said, "having Sirius around. I wonder if he'll stay in the castle this time."

          "I doubt it," Hermione said, giving Ron her don't-be-so-stupid look. "It's still mostly secret. He'll want to meet with us alone."

          "D'you s'pose we should tell Grey?" Ron asked.

          "I don't think so. He was an auror, remember? He probably doesn't feel too warmly towards Sirius."

          "He'll believe us," Hermione countered. "I think it would be a mistake to keep this from him." Harry needed to think about it, so he suggested they discuss it later. Despite Hermione's evil eye, they agreed.

          "I'm nervous about Professor Giles' final," Hermione said, skimming through her Dark Arts notes as they continued to talk.

          "Why? Of all people, you'll do well. You're his favorite student."

          "That doesn't mean anything, Ron. He's very fair."

          "I think you're worrying too much, Hermione," Harry said. "He can't get his research assistant failed out of school, even if you didn't know everything already."

          She harrumphed and went back to her notebook.

          "Is it hard?" From the hallway, they were watching the fifth-years take their Dark Arts final.

          "Yup," Willow said with a bit of glee. Grey noticed early on that she shared Hermione's enthusiasm for schoolwork. "He asked them to write an essay on the nature of evil. I think he's grading more on the how than the what of their essays, though. That's way easier."

          "You aren't grading them?" Giles leaned heavily on Willow to lighten his workload.

          "No, he said," she put on her faux-English accent, "Willow, I could not very well accept a paycheck for teaching this class and not grade the final exam." Grey nodded.

          "Tara decide whether she'll help Snape next semester?"

          "She's doing the waffle. She loves potions and hates Snape."

          "Understandable."

          "I think she will, though."

          "When are Buffy, Xander and Dawn coming for the holidays?"

          "On the 22nd, so what …" She paused, counting. "Six days. They'll stay until the 27th."

          "You haven't told me what you wanted yet."

          "Thought you said you were Jewish," she said, confused.

          "I am. Chanukah, remember?"

          "Oh yeah. Duh. Sorry, been doing the Wiccan thing for awhile." She had actually already ordered Grey's gift through Xander, but didn't want Grey to feel pressured to buy anything for her. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it."

          "I'll surprise you, then." He grinned mischievously and walked away.


	48. Tis the Season

          The Scooby party arrived six days later. Willow provided shuttle service, bringing Xander, Buffy and Dawn across to the Gryffindor common room. Ron, Hermione, Giles, Tara and Harry formed the reception. Nearly all of the other students had departed for the holidays, including Ron's brothers and Ginny. Ron decided to spend the break with Harry and Hermione, though Harry doubted he would see either of them much. Grey had stopped by Hagrid's for a chat with the groundskeeper.

          "My word, did they leave anything in the house?" Giles stared at the mountain of luggage assembled by Buffy and Dawn.

          "I don't think they left much," Xander confirmed. "Carrying it down the stairs was a fun task for the last male Scooby." Giles smirked internally, but said nothing.

          "It wasn't that bad, Xander," Buffy said, "considering the girl with super powers did most of it."

          Across the room, Harry introduced Dawn to Ron and Hermione. His face blushed crimson when she recounted the story of Harry saving her life the night they met.

          "You've got to teach me that spell, Harry," Ron said in wonder. "We could've used it the other night."

          "It's dangerous," Hermione cautioned, "and not something to play around with."

          "What happened to you guys the other night?" Dawn asked. Harry explained about Drusilla. "She hurt Spike? Is he alright?"

          "Jus' fine, little bit. Vamp healing does wonders." Spike stood in the common room doorway. Squealing, Dawn ran over and hugged him. Taken aback, he slowly wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug.

          "So you're totally okay, right?" She pulled away to give him an appraising eye. Buffy had the same look, he knew, but for a different purpose altogether.

          "Yeah, can't say as she did anythin' permanent." Dawn released him, and he looked at the other new arrivals. "Chubs." Xander nodded in return.

          Spike and Buffy locked eyes. What came next left Willow, Tara, Giles, and Spike gaping.

          Buffy walked over and hugged him. Spike's shock deepened as she stood there, arms around his waist, and looked into his eyes.

          "Hey."

          "Hey yourself, Slayer."

          "You're okay?" Did the chit actually have concern in her eyes? Bloody Hell!

          "Like I told the bit. Healed up right quick. She wasn't trying to kill me, just get me back. Still got the skills with the knife, though."

          "Good." She slipped away from him. "Nobody gets to kill you but me."

          "Izzat so?"

          "Mmm hmmm. Did she get you back?" He shook his head. More softly, she added, "Let's talk later." The surprised vampire could do nothing but nod. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

          "Told you she missed you," Grey said.

          "Hey, Grey, how are you?" Xander came over and shook his hand warmly.

          "Not bad. Did you …" He and Xander noticed Buffy staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Images flooded her brain. Dark-hair. Coffee. Bronze. "Buffy?"

          "We need to talk. Privately."

          The Scoobies, minus Giles and Spike, gathered with Grey in Willow's room to talk business.

          "You're saying you had a Slayer dream with Grey's ex in it?" Xander said incredulously.

          "Yeah," Buffy replied. "I didn't remember until I saw you, Grey. We were in the old Bronze, there was totally good music on, and she was drinking coffee. She said something about she had to get a message across, and I was the easiest to access because of the Slayer-ness and the Hellmouth." 

Willow nodded.

          "Dream messages can be difficult to send, but you're attuned to them and the mystical convergence that is our hometown is wired for them."

          "What did she say, Buffy?" Grey's voice shook as he failed to restrain his terror.

          "She worked hard to convince me it was the good her. What did she say?" Buffy tried to remember; the conversation felt very indistinct. "Oh, I know! David."

          "Huh?"

          "She said I should call you David, that she was the only one allowed to, and that she wanted apple cinnamon this year. She didn't really give off an evil vibe."

          Grey nodded, understanding.

"Just out of curiosity, apple cinnamon what?"

          "Popcorn. Every year on Christmas I get her popcorn from this woman in London."

          "Can I just say, eeew?" Xander said. Grey shrugged.

          "Popcorn?" Willow asked.

          "Remember how I said she loves the zoo?" Willow nodded. "Well, she absolutely craves popcorn. She's an addict. I used to tease her about it." His voice was small and tight. "What was the message?"

          Buffy scrunched her nose in concentration.

          "Let's see … she said something like, the spring rain won't be enough." Buffy looked at him for clarification and he shook his head, not knowing what that meant. "She also said something that had been done had to be undone from the inside, maybe? Does that make sense?"

          "None of this makes sense. Anything else?"

          "I think so. What was it … it was weird." Buffy paused in thought. "I think there was a line in there about Dr. Seuss."

          "Buffy?" Willow gave her an odd look. "Dr. Seuss?"

          "You-Know-Who? Is that what she said?" In Buffy's head, the line clicked.

          "Yeah, that's it. She said You-Know-Who and I thought Dr. Seuss, 'cuz, you know, of the whos." Willow and Xander shook their heads in wonder at the workings of their friend's mind.

          "Voldemort?" Willow asked Grey.

          "Yeah, Will. Voldemort. What about You-Know-Who, Buffy?"

          "She said he did more than talk." Grey visibly paled, finally understanding the point. Every assumption he had made unraveled instantly.

          "What is it?" Willow, seeing his color drain, rested a reassuring hand on his arm.

          "She must be talking about that first night. It wasn't just the magic itself that made her evil. Voldemort must have anchored it to her somehow. We need Giles and Hermione. I'll be right back." He raced out of the room. Buffy turned to her friend.

          "There was more, Will. Except it was for you."

          "Tell me."

          "She said 'tell Willow to take care of him.' She was crying. That's why I think it was really her." Willow nodded, staring at the doorway he had departed from.

          "I plan to."

          "Most interesting," Giles said, after hearing the story. Hermione's brow creased in thought.

          "Spring rain, that could be a spell reference," Tara offered. "Some sort of cleansing spell, maybe."

          "So, wait, for the non-magically inclined, can we backtrack?" Xander said. "This guy Voldemort, he's the Darth Vader guy here, right?" Grey nodded. "And your girlfriend…"

          "Ex-girlfriend," Willow said possessively.

          "Sorry Wills, ex-girlfriend, she attacked this guy with the dark magic. Then what? Poof, no pun intended, she pulls an Angelus and goes instantly evil?"

          "No," Willow said. "That's not how it happened exactly, right, Grey?"

          "She was fine for awhile, maybe a month, give or take. Except she wouldn't leave the house, and she had these nightmares." He shivered. "She would scream and sweat and shake in her sleep, but not wake up. In the morning, she wouldn't remember. I thought the magic gave her dreams, but I'm wondering if Voldemort didn't do it."

          As he finished, Giles and Hermione exchanged stares, realizing what they had missed.

          "_Plague of Hades_," they said at the same time.

          "Huh?"

          "What?

          "Plague?"

          "Oh no." The last comment leaked from Tara's lips in a whisper.

          The others cast perplexed glances on the blonde witch, but Hermione spoke first.

          "A few weeks ago, right before the attack on the Refuge, I found this spell called the _Plague of Hades_. It infects the target with evil."

          "The m-more power you have, the easier it is to work the spell on you," Tara added. "I read about it when you asked me to investigate your resurrection spell, Buffy." The Slayer nodded. "It's incredibly powerful dark magic."

          "There exists a small group of spells," Giles went on, "that require great power on behalf of the recipient, rather than caster. This spell is one. It takes time to work, however, laying dormant until the subject gives in to the temptation of evil. If Miss O'Brien has had this done to her, rather than succumbed to the lure of her magic, this spell would likely be the means."

          "Doesn't explain why it didn't kick in until the night Voldemort came back to power," Grey said. "I doubt that's a coincidence."

          "What if he left, I don't know, the magical equivalent of a post-hypnotic suggestion," Willow said. "When he got his power back, he triggered it magically and woke her up."

          "Something done must be undone from the inside," Grey repeated softly.          

          "If that's true, than Miss O'Brien is indeed not in control of her actions, and is also in quite a bit of danger," Giles said. "You said the other night she could not kill you, correct?"

          "Yeah. But I just assumed her subconscious wouldn't do it, the way Willow's wouldn't let her light the candle awhile back." The Hogwarts group nodded. "But maybe not. Maybe she really is fighting it, and she prevented the magic from doing it. How much would she be responsible for her actions, under this spell?"

          "Normally, I would say not at all," Giles answered. "I will have to research further, but I believe the spell would completely overrule any regulatory impulse she might have." He paused, pondering. "She is enormously powerful, though. Perhaps she cannot kill you because her feelings run deeper than the spell could penetrate. Voldemort may not have realized that when he did this to her, and it may help us break her free. This is all pure conjecture, of course."

          The anger in Grey's gaze burned fiercely.

          "Find out."

Grey had no hope of sleeping that night. Willow had given her room to Buffy and Xander; Dawn had taken an empty bed in Hermione's dorm. Willow stayed up with him, occupying the other chair in front of his fire. They were winding up a discussion of Willow's difficulty with dark magic. He had spent several hours before that pacing back and forth between his room and Giles' spot in the library.

          "Did you ever have dreams?"

          "No," she said definitively. "At least, not the kind that urged me to use more power. I always just used more power because it felt good."

          He nodded, his unspoken question answered.

          "That devious son of a bitch," Grey muttered softly. His thoughts churned in the quiet room. "You know what I realized at the Refuge? Other than the stuff that led to my big speech, I mean."

          "No. What?"

          "When we mix it up with her, at the end? I won't be very useful. It would take her or Voldemort maybe two seconds tops to disarm me, and then I'm just a squib."

          "That's why you've got the rest of us with you. I kind of think the fact that it's YOU will be more helpful than anything you could do."

          "I guess." He didn't feel like probing his guilt over putting them at risk. "I have to go into London tomorrow. Alone."

          "Why? I could come with."

          "No. Spend some time with your friends. We have all year, they have five days. Besides," he added, smiling faintly, "I'm going to pick up your gift." Silently he chided himself for lying, knowing that he would also be paying his annual visit to the popcorn store. 

          "Well, when you put it that way … looks like I'm a homebody for the day." 

          They both went quiet after that, lost in different thoughts.

He had no idea what would become of his relationship with Willow if Jess could be not only cured, but absolved of responsibility for what she had done to him. Would she want him back? Definitely. Would he want her back? Yes. Would he go back to her? Looking at the beautiful woman seated across from her, absorbing her obvious concern for him, he admitted to himself that he didn't know. Until they cured Jess – if they cured Jess – he decided not to dwell on the dilemma. He knew any decision made before she actually returned to him would be utterly worthless.

Across the room, Willow glanced at Grey and sensed the turmoil the message had caused in him. Fear gripped her stomach as she imagined Jess' homecoming, healed and blame-free. Would Grey take her back? Would he leave Willow? The redhead had no answer for either question. 

          Giles and Hermione had yet to leave the library. They spent the entire day digging up information on the _Plague of Hades_. The more they found, the more both were convinced that Voldemort had performed it on Jess.

          "And you've found no trace of a counterspell, Hermione?" Giles and Grey had asked that question no less than ten times in the past few hours.

          "No, Professor … I mean, Giles." She had difficulty getting into the habit of calling him Giles. "You know, this makes most of the work we've done thus far completely useless."

          "Why do you say that, my dear?"

          "Well," Hermione began. She had pondered this all day. "It does not seem to me that removing her magic will do much in the way of removing her evil. From what these books have told us, the magic can exist without the evil, and vice versa."

          "I agree," the Watcher said, wondering where she was heading. He finally had admitted to himself that she was as gifted a researcher, even in her mid-teens, as he had ever met. At times, she pointed out avenues of inquiry that he himself completely overlooked. He had praised her often, causing a furious display of blushing; at those times, she reminded him greatly of a younger Willow.

          "Since, based on our decision the other night, I think our goal is to exorcise the evil from her mind, we should work toward undoing this spell, which completely alters our focus."

          "I see," he said, nodding. He had been thinking the same thing. "What do you suggest?" She blushed, embarrassed that he let her take the lead again.

          "I thought I could try and determine how You Know Who triggered the activation of the spell when he returned. That knowledge, combined with what we know about the _Plague of Hades_, might help us undo them both. You can research this spring rain clue that Jess sent us. If we can try and find both at once, we can make up for some of the time we've lost already." She looked up from the notes she had made, trying to gauge if she had gone too far. Giles smiled his approval and agreed.


	49. Holiday Cheer

            "So it's a Scooby Christmas," Xander said, hugging his winter coat tighter. "Not loving the cold, but otherwise it sounds good." He sat on the hill overlooking the Quidditch field. Willow, wrapped in a blanket and several sweatshirts stolen from Grey, lounged beside him. Dawn had gone off with Harry and Ron; Buffy had wandered off to have her talk with Spike, while Giles and Hermione remained in the library. Grey left early for London.

            "That it is. Not so much wishing for anything else, either." She really liked the fact that she and Xander had squeezed some time alone together. "How's the ol' homestead?"

            "Good, surprisingly. New uber-vamp in town, some ex-Order-of-Aurelius Master wannabe. We're thrashing his minions off and on. I'm enjoying it."

            "You know, if you guys need help, I'm a magically-free phone call away."

            "I know. Thanks." Xander smiled.

            "I kind of meant, how are you? As in you, Xander, my bestest bud."

            He sighed. Willow abruptly appreciated how old they were both getting. The years of group slayage had worn lines on his face that she didn't remember from high school. She wondered if she had them too.

            "Honest?" She nodded. "A little tired. I miss Anya."

            "Kinda figured. No movement on that front?"

            "Nah. Not since the giant spider episode when she lost her powers. We talk a little, in groups. She slays with us. But we're strictly friend-zone."

            "No other prospects?"

            "Probably could be, I guess. I can't say I'm big with the looking, though."

            "Give it time, Xand." Her mitten-clad hand patted his. "One way or another, time will heal it." He shrugged. They spent five minutes in silence before he spoke again.

            "Ask you a question?"

            "Shoot."

            "No more vanilla?" She had worn vanilla as long as he could remember. Hugging her earlier, the sharp tang of cinnamon took him by surprise.

            "You know that girl Jess? The one in Buffy's dream?"

            "Uh huh."

            "Well, she's Grey's ex, and he smelled the vanilla, which she wore a lot, and it brought on the wig the first time we almost kissed." 

He appraised her with a long look.

            "So you really like this guy, huh?"

            "Yup. Officially head-over-heels. He makes me tingly." She knew she wore a dopey ear-to-ear smile and didn't care. She ignored again the pang of apprehension about the recent revelations on the Jess front. That was a Tara or Buffy discussion, not a Xander discussion.

            "He seems a little … broody. Like Angel, sort of?"

            "It isn't him. He's not like that with me. It's this whole defensive thing he does, because we're trying to put the good-whammy on his ex-girlfriend the Big Bad. Plus, definitely not with the Angel-esque guilt."

            "High walls?"

            "The highest. The Walls of Jericho pale in comparison."

            "Don't misunderstand. I like him. I just want to make sure he's okay for my Willow, you know?"

            "I know, Xand. Thanks." She felt warm inside, understanding that she had just received the Xander seal of approval. She knew Grey liked Xander a lot. It made her happy to at least semi-avoid the normal Scooby relationship conflict. It almost seemed required by now. "He's … we've gotten really close, really fast. There's a lot of stuff about him that reminds me of you. The toys and comic books, plus the endlessly loyal-ness."

            "You never said comic books. He has comic books?"

            "Lots," she confirmed.

            "I think you should marry him. Quickly." They both laughed.

            "What's up with the Buffy-Spike huggage?"

            "I think she misses him," Xander said, a pained look on his face. "We hang, but it isn't the same for her. I think she lacks a real foil, you know?"

            "Foil-less is bad. Especially a witless foil like Spike. I know you, though, Xander. You must be pretty not okay with this."

            He sighed.

            "After … what happened with Anya, I'm trying to do less judging. I'm failing at it, but I'm trying."

            "You knew it was coming."

            "I thought it might. The Dawnster and I talked about the possibility over pizza. She wanted to make sure I didn't 'pull a Xander' and do something dumb." Willow chuckled.

            "You do have a knack for doing the wrong things about Buffy's boyfriends."

            "I don't think she loves him or anything. Not without a soul. If he had a soul, I'd start to do the Scooby dating dance of worry." His voice sounded far away. "I think she's lonely. I don't want her to be lonely." She patted his hand again, following his train of thought.

            "You'll find somebody, Xander. So says Willow, seer of fortunes and futures, predictor of hopes, dreams, and the occasional Xander miscue."

            He gave her a pure Xander grin, the one that was amused and thankful that she would always be his friend.

            Grey always wondered why the shop smelled like toffee. All of the wonderful flavors floating around, but only the toffee dominated.

            "Aah, knew you'd be back, I did," Miss Agnes said when he entered. She could have played the crone out of any fairy tale, but he thought she was a fabulous old woman. "What flavor does your lady fancy this year?"

            "Apple cinnamon," he said, trying to sound bright as he approached the counter. She fished around for her wand and swished it experimentally while he spoke. "Just like every year. How have you been, ma'am?"

            "Still alive, mostly," she said, cackling at her weak joke. "Truth is, you'll probably come back next year and find a pub." She said that every year. He wondered how old she really was. "And you, dearie?"

            "Oh, just fine, you know."

            She inspected him like a fly in soup.

            "Don'tcha be lyin' to Miss Agnes, young man. Too old for that nonsense. I can smell it on you. Troubles with your lady?"

            "No, ma'am," he said, shaking his head. "No troubles at all."

            "Must be a different lady then." He gaped. "I didn't get to be an old witch by not payin' attention, young man. Tell me, how long ago did she leave?"

            "Seven months or so," he said, not knowing why he was answering.

            "And you're still buyin' her popcorn?"

            "She's … it's complicated. We're not together. I'm hoping we might be friends."

            "Well, good luck to you with that, dear. I'm sure the new one is very nice, too."

            "How did…"

            "You changed your smell." Miss Agnes gave him a knowing smile. In a younger person it might have been a leer. "Always smelled like vanilla, you did. 'S how I knew you were lying. You smell like cinnamon now, boy." He shook his head, marveling that she could smell Willow on him with all of the other scents in the room. "Is this for the new one, or the old one?"

            "For the old one. Just a small tub this time, please."

            The elderly witch nodded, peering at the table in concentration. She muttered an incantation and moved her wand about. Two tubs appeared, each a quarter of the size of the one he normally bought. She handed him the left one. "Apple cinnamon, for your friend."

            "Thanks, Miss Agnes." She lifted the second tin. "Oh no, really, this is fine."

            "Wasn't askin' yer opinion, was I?" She handed it to him. "This one's from me. For the woman you love."

            "Oh, wait, don't misunderstand, I don't …" 

Her glare shut him up.

            "You live in here?"

            "Problem, Slayer? S'a lot less drafty than the crypt, at least."

            Buffy looked around Spike's apartment. He occupied an old, unused dungeon in the Hogwarts basement. She noticed that he had a stereo and a fridge, but neither was plugged in.

            "Why do you have those if they don't work?"

            "They work. Dumbledore enchanted 'em, like the Watcher's cell phone."

            "I get it," she said. "No t.v. though. How do you watch _Passions?" She knew the answer, via Willow, but she wanted to see Spike huff and puff._

            "I don't, which you bloody well know. He enchanted the telly but it got bollocks for reception, and we're a few blocks from a video store here." His growling over missing his soaps made her laugh.

            Spike lit a cigarette and dropped down on a worn sofa. She took an armchair.

            "You wanted to talk, Slayer. So talk. Come to brag on about your new honey, have you?" She shook her head.

            "No new honey, Spike." Unsure how to begin, or even what she wanted to say, she stalled. "Grey told you I missed you?"

            "Yeah. Tol' me you called me your Spike."

            "Drusilla was being all possessive. I was trying to distract her so I could get to Tara," she lied.

            "About what I figured," he said. Damn. Knew that was what happened. Stupid Jedi, getting my hopes up.

            "You aren't hurt, right? From her visit?"

            "Not that you actually care, but no."

            "I care," she said weakly.

            "Don't want Spike goin' bad again, eh? Worried that his dark goddess will come and tempt him back?"

            She looked at him with Slayer eyes.

            "No. You know that isn't it. Stop being so … Spike."

            "Why are you here, then? Can't really give you info about some baddies, can I? Or are you looking for somethin' a bit more … personal?" He leered at her, inspecting her curves.

            "We're over, Spike. I told you that." She gave him a look of disgust.

            "So? What is it?" Buffy sighed.

            "I don't know. I just … feel like things are unsettled between us, despite the over-ness."

            "'Zat bother you, pet?" What the bloody hell is she up to?

            "Kind of."

            "So you do miss me, then?"

            With a pained grimace, she nodded.  

            "I know why you did what you did, Slayer. I don't want you to hurt because of that. Where are you goin' with this?"

            "I guess I just … I don't know. I should just go." She rose and walked towards the door.

            "Buffy." Sincere Spike voice. Oh no. "Stop." She halted. "You want to talk. Fine. We'll talk."

            "I don't know what I want to say, really. I don't feel bad about what happened, but I kind of need to … ask you something, and I feel bad about that."

            "Care to let the vampire take a stab at it? It's you, the nibblet, Chubs, and Demon Girl now. You're the undisputed head of the class in that bunch. You wish you had me to talk to, but you felt bad using me for shaggin' and sent me away. Now you want me back for the non-shag parts, but you don't want to ask."

            "When did you go all percepto-guy?" His explanation sounded eerily correct. The new Scoobie dynamic had her feeling really alone. Spike, for all his annoying Spike-ness, she thought, understands me. I could talk to him.

            "Lived a long time, luv, an' I used to be a poet. I know a lot about people and emotion."

            She sat back down, heavily, knowing what she wanted to do and summoning the courage.

            "Will you come back? According to Willow, you don't have much going on here."

            "Can I get a moment of honesty from you, luv?" She nodded. "If I come back, is it for the talking only?"

            "Spike … I can't have you in my life that way. Don't you see? It isn't fair."

            "But it's fair to use me as your vamp-shrink?"

            "It's different. I won't be leading you on that way." He raised his scarred eyebrow. "What?"

            "If you think that, then you don't know me, Buffy. The shaggin' is good, but love is a thing of the mind. I couldn't be a part of your life that way without the hope surviving."

            "You won't come back," she said, crestfallen.

            "What would it take for you to love me?"

            "Don't go there, Spike. Just … don't."

            "That's what I thought. The answer is no, luv. I'm stayin' here."

            "I … I understand. It wasn't fair of me to ask."

            "Probably not, but I appreciate that you did. Makes me think you almost see me as a real person." She let that pass, as he knew she would.

            "Can you do one other thing for me, instead?"

            "What's that?"

            "Keep an eye on Willow? Please?"

            "No harm'll come to Red, Slayer. My word on it." She nodded.

            "Thanks. And Spike?"

            "Yeah?"

            "It was good to see you." She said it softly as she left. 

He sat alone in the dungeon afterwards, thinking about who and what he was. Briefly, he wondered if Buffy was more important to him than he was to himself. He knew the answer right away.

"Damn," he said aloud.


	50. Gifts

            The tapping noise woke her on Christmas morning. Rolling over, she desperately wanted to ignore it. After a moment, she realized it was at the window, not the door; cautiously, she glanced over. A snow-white owl fluttered outside, a package tightly grasped in its talons.

            She rose slowly, barely rustling her silk pajamas, and opened the window. The bird swooped in, deposited the package on the bed, and raced for home. She walked over and examined it. A small disc, two inches high, wrapped in brown paper and tied with yarn lay on her bed.

            She unwrapped it, finding a familiar metal tin and an unsigned note written in a familiar scrawl.

            _You have no idea the depths of my missing you._

            While the sadness settled into her stomach, Jess opened the tin and smelled apples and cinnamon.

            "Merry Christmas, David," she whispered.

            Grey heard the faint knocking at the door.

            "Will?" He asked, testing if she was awake.

            "Go 'way. No class. Sleepin'," she mumbled. He lightly kissed her temple and climbed out of bed. The clock told him it was 7 in the morning when he opened the door to find Giles standing in the hallway, looking tired and disheveled. Grey stepped out from the room to let Willow sleep.

            "Tell me you've found something." Giles nodded.

            "We found the _Spring Rain_ spell. It should reverse the _Plague of Hades_," he said. He was too tired to say much more; he had barely slept since the Scoobies arrived. Grey sensed something beyond his words, though.

            "What's the problem?"

            "The spell ingredients are quite rare. One in particular requires further research. A device referred to as the Eye of the Golem. I have no idea what that might be. The spell itself will require the power of both Willow and Tara, and possibly Dumbledore as well; it will be quite difficult." There was more, but Giles decided Christmas morning would not be the best time to deliver such upsetting news.

            "We'll figure it out." He clapped Giles on the shoulder, buoyed by the success into a rare burst of optimism. To Giles' astonishment, a broad grin lit up his face. "Now, I'm the one who owes you. You need some sleep, Watcher."

            "Nonsense, Grey. For the debt, I mean. The sleep certainly sounds appealing."

            The auror extended his hand, which Giles took.

            "Thank you, Rupert." Grey forced back tears from his rising emotion.

            "You're quite welcome. Merry Christmas, young man."

            Harry rose first, shaking off the last dregs of sleep not long after Giles left Grey. He waited in bed, luxuriating in the fact that he had nowhere to go until Ron woke up. Harry couldn't wait to drop the surprise on his friend.

            An hour later, the youngest male Weasley stretched and yawned. He looked over at Harry, said his good mornings, and then made the suggestion they were both waiting for.

            "Presents?"

            "Presents!"

            They both jumped out of bed, giddy with excitement. Hermione and Dawn, finally hearing voices, entered to watch. Harry had a number of gifts piled in front of his bed; Ron found the annual lumpy package from his mother and nothing else.

            "Huh? D'you know where…"

            "Actually, Ron," Hermione said, interrupting him with great joy, "we had them put yours in the common room. Well, except this one." Blushing furiously, she kissed him in front of Dawn and Harry, who turned away.

            "Huh?" Except for the kiss, which he enjoyed thoroughly, Ron's brain had gone completely haywire. Dawn caught Harry grinning behind Ron's back. Hermione had explained the surprise, of which Dawn heartily approved.  "Come on," Harry said, taking one of his friend's arms. Hermione took the other and placed a hand over his eyes, and together they led him into the common room. "You see, none of us really knew what to get you this year, so we talked it over with everyone else."

            "In the end," Harry said, "we decided that the one thing you really wanted, none of us could afford. So we chipped in." Hermione pulled her hand away.

            Resting on one of the chairs was a long, thin package wrapped in brown paper.

            "This is from us, your family, Grey, Willow, and Tara. I do hope you like it," Hermione said.

            Even before he opened it, Ron knew what it was. Frozen in shock, he stared at the brown shape.

            "Go on, open it." Harry gave him a playful shove towards it. The spell broken, Ron sprinted to the chair and tore the wrapping off.

            "'Cor! A Nimbus 2002!" His eyes wide, Ron looked at them. He had no idea what to say. "Th-th-thanks…"

            "Merry Christmas, Ron," Harry and Hermione said together.

            Spike felt like the King Poof, walking around the campus brooding about Buffy. Seeing her after the time apart hurt like the devil. He longed to be with her all the time; Hogwarts, despite the necessity of his presence, bored the hell out of him. All he did, it seemed, was run around dumping weapons, cheering people up, or getting tortured. Not much of a life. At the same time, he knew accepting her offer and returning would have made him more miserable than he already was. Returning when she couldn't love him had never been an option.

            Unfortunately, he knew what it would take for her to consider loving him: a soul.

            Once he got past the frantic demon and his own macho posturing, he admitted to himself a basic fact of his existence. He was love's bitch. He knew he would be willing to get one for her. It was as simple as that, really, though forcing the demon to do it could be a bit messy, as could avoiding turning into a wimp like his sire. Finding a soul without a curse on it would also be a nearly impossible task; he had shelved the thought for later and gone looking for something to hit.

            When he woke up on Christmas morning, Buffy sat on his armchair holding a small duffel bag. She had been watching him sleep for twenty minutes, disturbed and fascinated by his resemblance to a corpse. Hearing his voice again, filled with the roughness of sleep, made her stomach twinge the tiniest bit.

            "What else can I do for you, luv?" He slipped on a pair of jeans and lit a cigarette to start his day.

            "Brought you your present," she said, smiling. He still had a good body, she noticed as he climbed from bed.

            "Did you, then. Is it in the bag?" She nodded, trying to refrain from the smile morphing into a smirk. "May I?"

            "Go ahead." She handed him the bag. He opened it, gaping at the labeled set of videotapes inside. "You like? Dawn's idea, with a little Willow encouragement. I didn't know what to get for the guy who lives in a crypt and doesn't go out during the day."

            "Every episode?"

            "Since you left. Merry Christmas."

            "Wow … umm …" He tried to say something suitably nasty, but his excitement overwhelmed his wit. "Thanks, pet."

            "I feel weird, doing this on Christmas."

            "Seemed a good enough time to me, since we missed Chanukah. I can't say I'm much of a religious guy, but then, you knew that. Should we skip it?"

            "Heck, no!" The girlish glee in her voice suddenly made him very tempted to skip the presents and go back to bed. "I'm all for the opening."

            "Okay. I wasn't sure what to get, exactly." They sat facing each other, cross-legged, on his bed. Grey pulled out two packages, one square and the other round. "This one," he said, holding up the round one, "I didn't mean to get at all. Open it first." Willow slowly untied the string and removed the brown paper, careful not to tear it. Her concentration entranced him; she focused totally on the task, her tongue peeking out of the right side of her mouth. Finally, it came open.

            "You could just rip, you know."

            "Shut up, Xander." They laughed, and he realized, not for the first time, how beautiful she was. He told her so, eliciting a massive blush.

            Opening the tin, she found the popcorn. It was covered in brown powder; experimentally, she ate a piece.

            "Oooh! Perfect!"

            "What flavor is it?"

            "Mocha … Wait, you didn't know?"

            "I went to the popcorn store, to order the apple cinnamon for Jess." He watched closely for a cringe, but she just nodded. She had figured he would do that, after her request in the dream, and forced herself not to react. "Miss Agnes, who makes the popcorn, gave me this one. She said it was for the new lady in my life. I never opened it."

            "How'd she know you had a new lady?"

            "I smelled like cinnamon, not vanilla." Willow blushed again, and he kissed her lightly. "You ready for the next one?" She nodded.

            Again carefully working the wrapping, she revealed a flat black box, covered in velvet. Inside, on a silver chain, rested a miniature carving of a Willow tree.

            "Grey, it's so beautiful," she whispered in a hushed voice. Caressing it with a finger, she felt real wood.

            "I had them enchant it with a protection spell. The wood won't rot or anything because of the magic. The enchantment enhances clear thought. I'm hoping it might help you when you call on your power."

            Overwhelmed with joy, she launched herself across the bed and wrapped him up in her arms. Before he could even register the movement, they were kissing.

            "Thank you," she said breathlessly, as she finally pulled back. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou…"

            "Willow!"

            "Umm … what?" Their faces were inches apart.

            "You're welcome." He kissed her again. "Now let me up."

            "Oh! Sorry. I just … excited and spell and so nice of you, then with the leaping and the kissing and …" He silenced her with another kiss.

            "Like I said, you're welcome." She smiled broadly.

            "Help me with it?"

            He lifted it free from the box and slipped it around her neck. When he fastened the clasp, he brushed the spot where it rested lightly with his lips.

            "Okay, what I got you is so not up to that standard."

            "Well, then I guess you'll just have to make it up to me afterwards. We'll test your moral limits or something."

            "Ha ha. Very funny, buster."

            "Will, it's from you. That's all it needs to be fabulous."

            "Before this gets way mushy again, let me give it to you." She pulled out a tiny square package, smaller than the one for her necklace. "You kind of pre-empted my idea. I had Xander help me with this." She handed it to him.

            Under the wrapping and inside the tiny wooden box was a metal disc slightly larger than a quarter. A 'G' had been carved in relief. He looked up at her, not knowing what it was.

            "Hand me your lightsaber," she said. He did, and she motioned for the disc, which snapped magically onto the bottom of the hilt. "It weighs almost nothing, and shouldn't change the balance."

            "What is it?"

            "It's carved from iron; Xander has a friend who does metal sculpting. I kind of borrowed your lightsaber the other night, and Tara and I did a spell. The next time you use it, you'll understand better, but basically, we turned up the juice on the enchantment. You should be faster than you were before."

            "Whoa. Where did you find the magic for that?" He was astounded. The magic for making lightsabers had been destroyed with the blades themselves.

            "Hermione and Giles helped us. So did Dumbledore. He's got most of the magic for making these, actually. I asked him about it and he got that twinkle, you know, in his eye? He said," adopting a Dumbledore voice, which she did very well, "Miss Rosenberg, I should hope by now you would understand that orders are sometimes best not followed."

            "I don't know what to say. Thank you so much."

            "Perhaps if you were to skip the words and move on to the testing instead?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

            "We better make it quick. Dinner's in an hour and a half."

            "Merry Christmas," she said with a mischievous smile as she pulled him to her.


	51. Nyuk Nyuk

          "D'you think he'll like it?" Ron asked as he, Harry, Dawn, and Hermione hiked across the campus to Hagrid's home, each wrapped tightly in winter clothing and Weasley sweaters to ward off the cold.

          "I think it's cool," Dawn offered. "Not that I know this guy or anything, but Spike says he likes beer."

          "That's for sure," Harry said with a shake of his head, remembering Hagrid's misadventures at the Pub. For Christmas, they bought him a magical ale-brewing kit in Hogsmeade. The package was so big that they had to send Pig, Hedwig, and two school owls to pick it up; he and Ron each gripped an end of it for this part of the trip. After an agonizingly long trek, the groundskeeper's house came into sight.

          "I hope he's home," Hermione said, noting the absence of smoke billowing from the chimney.

          "Where else would he be on Christmas morning?" Ron asked, drawing a shrug. They balanced the box precariously on the top stone step and Harry knocked. No one answered. He knocked again and the door swung open a bit.

          "Guess you guys don't have to lock your doors much here, huh?" Dawn said. Seeing the look passed around by her new friends, she continued, "or maybe you do, and this is not a good thing."

          "Come on," Harry said as he hoisted the brewing kit, "let's drop this off and see if we can find him and tell him he …" Walking through the door, he and Ron nearly dropped the package. Hagrid's inert form lay slumped in the chair by the hearth, snoring peacefully. Fang lay next to him, all four paws bound with thick rope. Upon closer inspection, Hagrid's hands and feet were tied tightly to the chair.

          Harry rushed over and shook the half-giant awake.

          "Huh … wha' … who …" He opened his eyes. "Harry! What are yeh doin' here?"

          "We came to drop off your present, Hagrid. Why are you in that chair?" Hagrid's eyes darted around the room.

          "Oh, uh, well, uh, yeh see, I was having a nap is all. Nothin' ter be concerned about." He tried to rise and noticed the ropes. "Darn! Little buggers! Umm, can one of yeh…" he canted his head toward the ropes apologetically. Hermione pulled out her wand and freed them both.

          "What on Earth did that to you, Hagrid?" 

          "Nothin' ter worry about, Hermione. Jus' a li'l mishap with some creatures fer class. Bes' be retrievin' 'em, so …" He saw Dawn standing in the doorway, confused. "'Ello. Who might you be?"

          "I'm Dawn. I'm a … uh … friend of Willow and Spike."

          "Oh," Hagrid boomed, smiling and walking over. "Yer the nibblet tha' Spike's always on about. Rubeus Hagrid's tha name, pleased ter meetcha." He gave Dawn a warm handshake that nearly swallowed her, then turned to the others. Need ta get them out soon's I can, he thought, then get Spike and go after those buggers. He noticed the gift sitting on the floor and inspected it.

          "Aww, yeh din't hafta go an' do tha'." Delighted, Hagrid unwrapped the kit and thanked them profusely.

          "Hagrid, what is going on?" Hermione adopted her Finals Voice. "What creatures did you order that know how to use ropes?"

          He blushed and stared at his feet sheepishly.

          "Thought it might be fun ter have yeh tryin' something new, some creatures tha' could talk back an' whatnot." Three pairs of eyes went wide. "Got three insteada two, made things a tad tricky. Not ta worry, though. No harm in 'em, really. I jus' wouldnae let them run abou' the campus is all, an' they got upset. They can get a wee bit testy, imps can."

          "IMPS!" Ron and Hermione shouted. Dawn and Harry had no idea what imps were.

          "Shouldna tol' yeh that," he muttered.

          "Hagrid, please tell me they weren't pink," Hermione said. He looked away. "Oh dear."

          "What's an imp?" Dawn asked.

          "Mischief demons," Ron said. "D'you know about house-elves?" Dawn nodded. Spike had explained about them when he told her about Dobby's role in Harry's rescue. "Imps are sort of the same, 'cept they like to cause trouble instead of take orders. They look like chubby kids that're about this tall," he gestured three feet off the ground, "with wings and little horns. Different colors have different powers. Fred and George once brought home a gold one. My mum almost threw 'em out of the house permanently after the imps enchanted all of the dishes to sing when they had food on 'em."

          "Pink ones are the worst," Hermione added. "They have the most power and the most brains. I read that they like to play, but that they can be really prickly and you mustn't anger them. Are they full grown?" She asked Hagrid. He shook his head.

          "Got some half-grown ones. Figured they'd be simpler ter handle."

          "How long ago did they get out?"

          "Showed up late las' night, an' I let them out to feed 'em this morning," Hagrid said. "Yeh shouldn't worry. I'll have 'em under control soon enough. But…" Hagrid paused, looking guilty, "don't be sayin' anythin' ter Dumbledore jus' yet." They nodded.

          "We won't say a word, Hagrid," Harry said. "We'll help you bring them back."

          "I don' think yeh…" The three of them gave their best impressions of Willow's resolve face.

          "Where should we look first?" Harry asked.

          "Do you really think they'll be up here when they weren't anywhere else?" Dawn and Harry had elected to look in the Divination tower last.

          "No idea, but Hagrid said they like high places where they can see everything." They had already investigated the roofs and the higher floors without finding the imps. Harry offered to let Dawn go back and stay with the Scoobies, but she insisted that this would be more fun.

          "Besides," she had said outside of Hagrid's, "tracking monsters is totally the hobby of choice for Sunnydale teenagers. I'm down with it."

          Harry almost wished she had decided to leave. From the moment they met, her presence had unsettled him, and here at Hogwarts the effect was no different. Besides her good looks, Dawn was friendly and far more approachable than Cho had been, which somehow made her equally formidable. He had not quite reached the crush stage, though she discomfited him enough that he found himself rehearsing every sentence in his head before he spoke.

          They climbed into the tower and looked around.

          "Weird," Dawn said, taking in all of the divination equipment. "We have some of this stuff at the Magic Box, but Tara says…" she trailed off, not wanting to insult one of Harry's professors.

          "Tara says what?"

          "Most of this stuff doesn't really work," she said hurriedly. Harry laughed uproariously. "What?"

          "I'm not surprised," he said when he got himself under control. "Professor Trelawney is … different. She thinks it does, but I bet Tara knows better." He explained about her death predictions, and soon Dawn was laughing as loudly as he had been. "Does Tara know a lot about divination?"

          "She knows, like, tarot cards and stuff. I don't really know how much else. We never got into it too much. On the Hellmouth, it's better not to know sometimes." Harry nodded. "Where to next?"

          "I'm not sure. I think…" The shattering glass cut him off abruptly as an imp burst through the window. He tackled Dawn to the ground, shielding her from the shards.

          "Oopsy," said a childlike voice. "Me sorry. Me not finding Moe or Larry, so me be trying here." Harry rolled off of Dawn and looked up at the speaker. As promised, the imp looked like a short child with pink skin and leathery wings. Nub-like horns protruded from its forehead, and it seemed to be wearing a white diaper.

          "Moe or Larry?" Harry asked. The imp nodded.

          "Yep. Me come with Moe and Larry. Me Curly."

          "You've got to be kidding," Dawn said. "Who named you?"

          "Moe be naming me. He be watching muggle teevee," the imp stretched the syllables out, "and be liking the names." Dawn groaned.

          "I don't get it," Harry said.

          "You don't know the Three Stooges?" Dawn said.

          "No."

          "Ooh, Stooges fun. Not as fun as me, Moe, and Larry though. We fun." Dawn's eyes widened.

          "Does … does Moe like to have fun like the Three Stooges?" Dawn asked the imp with fear in her voice. All they needed would be mischief demons who appreciated physical comedy. Thankfully, the imp shook his head.

          "Curly, can you … can you tell us what happened earlier? At Hagrid's house?"

          "Ooh, mean giant. He not fun. Me not like him." The imp gave them an eerily appraising eye, and Dawn realized that, despite his childish voice and appearance, the demon had intelligence. "You be friends of his, yes? Trying to find Moe, Larry, and Curly?" Cautiously, Harry nodded. 

The imp's visage turned angry, and he waved his hands to manipulate his magic.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dawn said, frantically waving her own hands. "No need for that. Really. Just, like, chill with the mojo. We're not going to cage you or attack you or tie you up or anything. We promise." His expression softened and his hands halted. "You're looking for your friends, right?"

"Me looking." The imp's face fell, and she thought he might cry. "They no wanting me to find them, though."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"They … they not liking me …" The imp sobbed, clutching his face in his hands. The other two raised their eyebrows.

"I thought that they were your friends?" The imp cried harder. Harry felt terrible. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"They send Curly away. Say me not fun enough because me no like to hurt peoples. But m-me have nowhere else to go, so me go with them when they be applying for new home."

"Applying?"

"People need imps for friends. Moe and Larry be wanting to cause bad things, and be applying to go away," he wailed, as if it explained everything. "Me come along uninvited, because me be having no other friends. Now they be leaving me to get away and have mean fun on peoples."

"He got ditched," Dawn said quietly to Harry, "and then tried to follow and they ditched him again. That sucks."

"Moe and Larry sound bad," he agreed. Raising his voice, he spoke to Curly. "So they're here to have mean fun, right?" Curly removed his hands from his tear-stained face and nodded. "Do you want to stop them?"

"Me not wanting anyone to get hurt. They liking the hurt very much."

"You can come with us, if you want," Dawn said, picking up Harry's thought. "We need to find them before they have too much mean fun."

"Then me be having no friends at all," he moaned, breaking down again. 

Dawn rose and approached him. "We'll be your friends. I'm Dawn, and this is Harry," she said, pointing to the wizard. She touched a cool and slightly slimy shoulder; he flinched but didn't pull away. "We have other friends here, too. I think Moe and Larry will be having fun on them. If you help us stop them, our friends will like you a lot."

          "Really?" His eyes, solid white orbs, widened at her words. Dawn found them extremely creepy but controlled her reaction to avoid scaring him off. "Me be liking that very much. Curly be helping his new friends right now!"

          He grabbed each of their hands and leapt out the window, dragging the screaming pair into the empty sky.


	52. Fun and Games

          "Where do you think they are?" Hermione whispered to Ron. Harry and Dawn were conspicuously late for the feast; the imps had yet to put in an appearance. The couple traded nervous looks with a petrified Hagrid.

          "What's up with you guys today?" Willow asked, seeing their discomfort. The Scoobies shared one of the two tables with Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Hagrid, while the faculty and few remaining students occupied the other.

          "And where's my sister?" Buffy asked. "It's not like her to miss a meal."

          "Maybe she and Harry snuck off to…" Buffy's glare stopped Xander halfway through the sentence. "To do absolutely nothing. Not a thing. In fact, there was no sneaking, just brisk walking in open spaces directed all the time at arriving here."

          "That's right," Buffy said as Willow snickered and Tara smiled. "Dawn doesn't do those things and we aren't encouraging her to, right?" Xander nodded vigorously. Ron and Hermione continued to watch the door.

          "S-seriously, you guys, do you know where they are?" Tara asked.

          "We dropped off Hagrid's gift and …" Hermione paused, unable to conjure a believable lie. Ron dove into the breach.

          "An' Dawn wanted to get another sweater, so Harry went with her to show her the way." Hermione nodded. Tara looked skeptical. Before they could discuss it further, Dumbledore stood up to offer his brief remarks. He wore a Santa hat in place of his usual wizard's cap.

          "Welcome, everyone, welcome. As you can see, we have a diminished number here with us, but I do hope you will make up for the merriment of those who have left for the holidays." Hermione realized thankfully that he hadn't noticed Harry and Dawn. "I am looking forward to an exceptional meal, of course, and I will not keep you from it. Before we do eat, however, I would like to offer a toast." 

          He raised his glass. Everyone else reached for their own; Hermione, distracted by watching the door, knocked hers over and spilled purply liquid all across the table. Grey, Spike, and Giles, seated at the far end, looked on with amused smiles as everyone else jumped backwards to avoid the mess.

          "Happy Holidays," said an equally amused Dumbledore. He tipped the the glass to his lips and drank deeply. So did Hagrid, the three seated people at the Scooby table, and everyone at Dumbledore's table.

          They all dropped instantly to sleep in their chairs. Dumbledore fell to the floor, unconscious.

          "What the…" Xander said. Hooting laughter interrupted him.

          "Larry's turn now, Moe," shrieked a high voice.

          "Fun!" said another. The two imps fluttered down from their hiding place in a corner.

          "Oh no!" Hermione cried.

          "What are those things?" Buffy asked. "Can I kill them?"

          "Imps, and yes, quickly," Ron said. "Before…" Larry made a zipping motion across his lips and Ron's mouth disappeared. Strangled cries of "mmm-mmm" echoed in his head.

          'Tara, help Ron!" Willow ordered. Xander and Buffy, unable to perform magic, cast around frantically for weaponry. As Tara moved to reverse the spell, Willow focused a gust of wind at their attackers. The two imps flew around it easily.

          "Boring," Moe said.

          "No fun at all," Larry agreed. "Tee hee. Watch this!" He faced Willow and drew an X in the air with his right hand.

          Hermione had her wand out now, pointed at the imps. She watched Willow, hoping to launch their spells simultaneously. Moe noticed and tapped his fists together.

          "Oh my god!" Hermione's wand drooped as if it were limp spaghetti. She tried to wave it, but its new consistency prevented the proper motions. She glared at the imp angrily. He merely smirked and nodded, lighting off the second part of his attack.

          Hermione had always been very ticklish. When the sensation started on her sides and the bottoms of her feet, she knew exactly what it was and how powerless she was to stop it. As it spread across her whole body, she collapsed to the floor, giggling like a maniac and gasping for breath. Ron rushed to her side, his eyes imploring Tara to help as he watched his girlfriend roll around on the floor.

          Willow, unfazed by the failure of her wind spell, switched to a deadlier element. Whispering the incantations, she attempted to surround the imps in a sphere of fire; when she clapped her hands together to ignite the flame, a dozen red roses appeared in midair. The horrified expression on her face brought tears of mirth from Larry.

          "This being more fun than ever, Moe. Me liking these people." The second imp nodded, chuckling at his own handiwork.

          "Xander," Buffy said urgently, "what the hell are we going to do?"

          "You're the Slayer, Buff. I'm just some guy who gets beat up on by vampires. I have no idea." He paused, glancing around at the wooden furniture. "Or maybe … how's your throwing arm?" She followed his eyes, then nodded. They both grabbed chairs from against the wall and began breaking off legs.

          "Will, what's with the magic?" Buffy asked. Her friend had abstained from throwing another spell.

          "Can't do anything – they made it go all wonky. I don't want to risk calling up some big power and having it go boom on us." Buffy nodded. "Tara's trying to fix Hermione, but I don't…"

          A rain of multi-colored hail exploded from midair, pelting the three Scoobies painfully and sending them diving for cover. Xander ended up under a bench; the projectiles skittered off of the wooden barrier above him. The other two curled up next to him, shielded by the table.

          "This is the stupidest fight ever," Buffy shouted over the noise. Willow nodded.

          "I don't think they're trying to hurt us," the redhead replied. "They could do it easily. What are those things?"

          "Jelly beans!" Xander grabbed a black one and popped it in his mouth. He spit it out quickly, disturbed by the familiar taste. "Eeew!"

          "What was it?"

          "I think it was bug-flavored," he told Buffy, disgusted. Despite the situation, she and Willow chuckled.

          "So much for being nobody's butt-monkey, huh?"

          "Hey!"

          On the other side of the table, Tara had no luck figuring out what spells had been performed on either Hermione or Ron. The imps still hovered in midair, guffawing at the deluge of disgusting flavors they loosed on the three Scoobies. Seeing the localized storm, Tara hurriedly erected a barrier between the imps and their exposed spot.

          "Ooh, naughty witch!" Moe said, feeling her shield come up. He and Larry each began an incantation to knock down the wall.

          Harry, Dawn, and Curly chose that moment to burst in.

          "No!" Curly cried. "This mean and bad." His eyes bulged from their sockets and the reddish hue of his skin darkened with anger

          Harry, his wand already out, tossed a fireball at the imps. Dawn loosed a bolt from her mini-crossbow, the retrieval of which had delayed their arrival significantly. Moe and Larry defused the fireball, but the bolt took Moe high on the right side of his chest. He screamed with his final breath and plummeted to the ground; fury twisted Larry's features.

          "That not fun! That painful!" The power gathered around him, buzzing with intensity.

          "Hoo boy," Willow said, peeking out from beneath the table. She felt the power collecting in the air above her. Dawn hurriedly loaded another bolt, knowing she would be too late. Harry shot another fireball, but it fizzled in midair and disappeared. Pink energy formed into a boomerang shape in front of Larry; each tip sparked and moved in tiny lightning bolts. When he finished building it, the shape measured ten feet across.

          "No!" Curly shouted again. Larry looked at him scornfully.

          "What you want? We tell you go."

          "These nice people. Me new friends. You leave them be!" 

          Larry chortled and made a dismissive gesture at the boomerang, which leapt forward at Tara, Hermione, and Ron.

          Curly raised his hand. The boomerang turned, heading straight for him. Harry and Dawn, standing behind the imp, hit the floor and braced for the impact. The boomerang never landed, though. Instead, it looped back around towards Larry, whose eyes went wide in fright.

          The energy bolt incinerated him. Suddenly, the hail of Bertie Bott's Beans and the spells on Ron and Hermione came to an end, as did the sleeping spell.

          "Oh my," Dumbledore said.

          "Okay," Grey said, "that was not cool."

          "Hey," Xander said, "at least no one got really hurt." He leaned over and picked up a red jelly bean. "Plus, major candy goodness." He popped the bean into his mouth and, as before, spit it back out immediately. "What's with these things?"

          "What flavor was that one, Chubs?"

          "Shut up, Spike."

          "No, come on, what flavor?" Xander glanced around. Everyone watched him expectantly.

          "I think it was raw pig."  

          The Scoobies burst out laughing.


	53. Among Friends

          "So that giant-guy is really going to keep that thing around?"

          "That's what he said, Buffy," Willow replied. "It seemed kind of nice. Nicer than the other two, anyway," she added quickly, seeing their looks. They sat around one of the smaller research tables in an empty classroom, enjoying a post-mayhem round of drinks with Grey, Xander, and Spike. Tara, exhausted, had begged off and gone to bed.

          "How about the Dawnster, coming through in the clutch," Xander said. "And let's not forget who taught her to use the crossbow, hmm?"

          "Um, that would be me, Xander," Buffy said, scowling at her friend.

          "Well, yeah, sure, the shooting part. But which one of us served as a big, puffy target? That's right. The Xand man." Everyone laughed.

          "So you've been teachin' the nibblet some fightin' moves, have you?" Spike asked. He took a long pull on his mug of ale and replenished it from one of several pitchers of cocktails. Besides the drinks, they still had a plate of cookies out on the table. Xander had already ravaged the donuts and devoured his personal stash of Twinkies.

          "Yeah. With everybody gone," Buffy said pointedly, "we thought she should be better able to take care of herself."

          "And she can handle the down-an'-dirty part of it? The in-your-face and all that?" 

Buffy nodded, touched by his concern. "She's getting good. She can take Xander already."

          "Hey! Not fair! She has training and stuff. All I know is carpentry."

          "And I'm sure you could build a mean wall to hide behind," Spike said, tongue in cheek.

          "Shut up, Junior. You of all things should fear my skill with a saw."

          "Bite me, Harris." They glared at each other across the table.

          "Can't say the same, can I?" 

Spike glowered at him.

          "Quit it," Willow said, her voice serious. "Come on, guys. Post-meal fun, holiday drinks among friends. Just don't talk to each other, if all you're gonna do is fight."

          "He started…" She gave Xander a black look that shut him up. Spike smirked and swallowed more ale.

          "Why do you call him Junior?" Grey asked.

          "As in Deadboy, Junior," Xander answered. "You know who Angel is?" Grey nodded. "We didn't get along much. Angel's Deadboy. He's Spike's grandsire. Hence, Deadboy Junior."

          "Aah, I see."

          "You know what?" Buffy said, her thoughts wandering. "It's kind of sad that there's another place on Earth, besides Sunnydale, where whacky stuff happens often enough that sitting around having drinks with a vampire after an imp attack is considered normal."

          "I thought it was kinda nice having something go wrong that wasn't all Big Bad-y," Willow said. Again, they gave her skeptical looks. "What? I mean, nothing super terrible happened. No one really got hurt. It was pretty funny, even. That's a big change for us."

          "Hey, Buffy?" Grey said later, when the conversation flagged. The Slayer's eyes shifted to him as she poured another drink. "You've gone up against a lot of big-time bad guys, right? Not just vampires or demons. I mean serious players."

          "Uh huh."

          "What did they want?"

          "What do you mean?"

          "I mean, what was their goal? Something's been bugging me, and the whole thing with the imps just crystallized it."

          "The imps aren't exactly the biggest of the bads," Xander said.

          "I know. They were in it for the fun, not really for anything else. That isn't true for real villains, though. At least not the major ones."

          "Careful there, Jedi. Sometimes it is," Spike countered. "I'd like to think I commanded a certain villainous respect, but I all ever really wanted was a good feed and a good shag, with a healthy spot of violence now and again." Buffy rolled her eyes at the vampire.

          "I know that, Spike. But you're not the take-over-the-world type, are you?"

          "No," he conceded.

          "You're wondering what Voldemort is doing, right?" Willow said. 

Grey nodded. The Scoobies all looked thoughtful for a minute.

          "Ending the world has always been a big theme," Buffy remembered. "Death, chaos, destruction – each one a mission statement for the boardrooms of Sunnydale black hats."

          "Except without the Hawaiian shirt day that softens the blow of evil corporate policies," Xander chipped in.

          "So that's it?" Grey asked. "Just lots of violence? No other agendas?"

          "Mostly they wanted power," Willow said, thinking over the major evils they had faced. "The whole 'death of the humans' factor – not so much a big deal to any of them. It was more like a side effect than anything else. The Master was all Hellmouthy to give him strength. The Mayor spent a hundred years working to get the power of a really big snake. Even Glory just wanted to go home and rule her own world."

          "Sounds like Voldemort," Grey said. He had already figured that out. "But what's he going to do with his power? That's the part I don't get. He's not exactly in line for Minister of Magic or headmaster at Hogwarts. He has enough power to get anything material he might want, and he could certainly control anyone he wanted to. What else is there? World domination sounds good in comic books, but practically, it just isn't possible."

          "Maybe he's kinda like Bane," Xander said thoughtfully. No one but Grey, who gave him an interested look of appraisal, understood his meaning.

          "Bane of what?" Willow asked. 

          Xander shook his head. "No, not bane of something, Will. Bane is one of Batman's enemies." 

          Buffy groaned.

          "Hear him out," Grey said. "I know Bane, but I don't see the connection."

          "Think about it. What did Bane want? To be the big enchilada, right? Baddest of the bad boys? He didn't want to be mayor or anything. He just wanted to know that nobody could stand up to him, that he was THE MAN, like Batman was. So he broke Batman," Xander concluded.

          "So this guy …"

          "Voldemort."

          "Whatever, Will. This guy wants to be Batman?"

          "Come on, Slayer, pay attention," Spike broke in. "Chubs is saying that Voldemort doesn't want anyone around powerful enough to question him. It's not a bad guess," the vampire grudgingly admitted. "Nobody really knew what the bastard wanted the first time he rose to power. He had his Death Eaters, an' a sodding lot of them, and people feared him. Thought he might take down the Ministry and set himself up in its place, but he never got the chance."

          "I don't know. Somehow, being the biggest kid on the block doesn't seem like it would be enough for him," Grey mused. "We need to start thinking about how to find out," he told them, "or we could be really late getting to the party."


	54. Late Night Wandering

          After dinner, the three Gryffindors and Dawn wearily trudged back to the dorm. They lingered in the common room, laughing about the imps and enjoying each other's company in front of the fire until the girls began to drift off to sleep. Ron appeared to be next, so they bid each other goodnight and retreated to their respective dorms. The letter waited on Harry's bed.

          _Harry,_

_                   End of the tunnel. 1 am. Bring Ron and Hermione if you can. Be careful – there are vampires about._

_                             Sirius_

          "I guess he made it," Ron said, peering over Harry's shoulder. "He must mean the Shrieking Shack. Should we get 'Mione?"

          "No." Harry answered emphatically, "I don't want to involve Grey. We told Sirius about him, so Sirius must want to meet us alone. Dawn's in there with her, and she might mention it. We can fill Hermione in later."

          "What d'you s'pose he means by vampires?"

          "He probably saw Spike on patrol. Does it matter? We can't exactly not go, can we?"

          Ron shook his head.

          "Say that again?"

          "Saw a big black dog, mate. 'Cept it didn't smell like a dog, and it looked at me oddly."

          Spike had come in from patrol to find Grey, who had finally coaxed a very tipsy Willow to bed. The vampire thoroughly enjoyed how brassed off the Jedi was at being pulled from her arms.

          "You got me up because of a dog?"

          "I'm telling you, it wasn't a dog. Jus' looked like one." That gave Grey pause.

          "Alright. Let me throw some clothes on and you can show me where you found it."

          Wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and cargo pants, Grey stood next to Spike and observed the area around the Whomping Willow. He absently fingered the engraved end of the lightsaber hanging at his side.

          Spike sniffed the air.

          "What is it?"

          "Shut up for a minute." He peered at the tree. "I hear some heartbeats, but I don't see anythin'."

          The Whomping Willow began to move. Spike watched dumbfounded as a stick lifted of its accord and touched the tree. The branches halted in mid-air, they heard shuffling noises and two whispering voices, and then the stick dropped.

          "What the bloody hell was that?"

          "Harry, Ron, and their fabulous invisibility cloak. Let's go find out what's so special about that tree."

          An hour later, Sirius still had not appeared in the Shrieking Shack. Nothing had changed since Ron and Harry's last visit.

          "Maybe the letter got here early, and he meant tomorrow night," Ron suggested.

          "I don't think so," Harry said. "He wouldn't have sent it like that if it did."

          "D'you think he's in trouble?"

          "Could be. We should just wait awhile longer, until…" A sound in the hallway stopped him. They both turned expectantly towards the door.

          Grey and Spike walked in. Grey felt an odd buzzing in his head, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

          "Harry. Ron," the Jedi said. "What…"

          The enormous growl caught them off guard. Sirius, figuring the vampire would investigate, had hidden himself in the shack. He leapt from his hiding place and slammed headlong into Spike. Standing atop the sprawled vampire, Sirius tore into him with his claws. Grey drew the lightsaber.

          "No!" Harry shouted. "EXPELLIARMUS!" The curse came from both students, sending the lightsaber spinning into the air and toppling Grey over backwards. Spike, game face on and fangs bared, viciously returned the dog's pummeling. "Everybody stop! Now!"

          Harry's shout halted Sirius, opening him up to a fearsome strike. Spike's punch lifted him off of the vampire and into an old, scarred chair; the chair shattered on contact, but Sirius escaped unscathed.

          "Harry, what the hell is going on here?" Grey yelled as he cast around for his weapon.

          "Yeah, scar-boy! What's with you attacking us?" Spike's shirt had been shredded, but most of his body and his duster were intact.

          "We should have told you. I'm sorry." He turned to the dog. "Sirius, it's alright. They're on our side. They broke me out of the Dursley's this summer."

          The dog seemed to nod, and began to change. He became a gaunt wizard clad in ill-fitting robes, though Harry and Ron noticed that his hair and beard were less filthy than they had been.

          Grey let loose his own growl. "Sirius Black."

          "Grey," Harry said, stepping between them, "there are some things you should know." The Jedi looked at him questioningly, then back at Black. Harry explained the story of Sirius' escape. "And Sirius, there are some things you should know. The vampire is Spike, I wrote you about him and about Grey." Sirius nodded, wary of the vampire and auror regardless.

          "So Pettigrew was the one, eh?" Spike said, lighting a cigarette. "Always wondered why you'd do that to James and Lily. Whiny bastard." He turned to Grey. "Picture Neville, but a pandering, simpering idiot instead of a decent human being." Grey nodded.

          "You know about that?" Sirius asked, speaking for the first time.

          "Damn right I do. Dumbledore had gotten in touch with me about protecting Lily and James. We did a bit o' work together one time. Couldn't get away from what I was wrapped up in." He shrugged. "Wouldn't have done much good anyhow."

          "And now you work here, for Dumbledore?"

          "That's right."

          "And you," he said to Grey, "I thought aurors didn't carry those these days." He gestured to the lightsaber, which Grey had recovered.

          "Not an auror anymore," he replied guardedly. "Why are you here?"

          "Mostly, I wanted to make sure Harry was alright." Everyone turned and examined the Boy Who Lived.

          "You knew my parents?" He asked Spike.

          "Just a little bit, Harry. Only worked with 'em the once. You look like them, you know, your dad especially. Got your mum's eyes, though." 

          Harry nodded, surprised. He spoke to Sirius next. 

          "I'm fine, Sirius. There's a lot going on, more than what I wrote you."

          "He probably needs to know it, Harry," Grey said. "I wish you had told me."

          "I figured that he wanted to meet me alone," Harry answered honestly.

          "I understand. No problem." Grey seemed less than pleased, but let it go and spoke to Sirius. "We've got Harry's cloak. We should take you to Dumbledore so that he can fill you in."

          The five of them stumbled into a meeting between Dumbledore and Giles.

          "Can I help you gentlemen?" Dumbledore asked. "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, I do believe it is far past the time when the two of you should be in bed, especially after today's events."

          Harry and Ron glanced at each other, neither knowing what to say. Sirius saved them by pulling off the cloak.

          "Oh my," Giles said.

          "I see," Dumbledore said, "Sirius, I must say this is a surprise. I was given to understand you had not quite finished your assignment."

          "Couldn't find anything." Sirius shook his head. "It's a waste. Whatever he's doing with the giants, they're keeping it as secret as when Hagrid went. Same with the vampires and the Zombie Lord in Sydney. I got nervous when I heard of the attacks and returned."

          "Whoa," Ron said, his voice barely audible.

          "You were with the giants?" Harry asked with awe.

          "I've been gathering intelligence on the alliances Voldemort has been seeking."

          "Sounds like they're keeping it pretty tight," Grey said.

          "And I hear more than most, I suspect, since people tend not to notice a dog in their midst. He's gearing up, but not for an instant attack. I'd say the full-scale assault is a few years off."

          "Which vampires?" This came from Spike.

          "Some of the Asian orders. The European ones are mostly neutral."

          "Makes sense. They don't like to piss in their own backyards," he said. "'Course, they aren't likely to help us either."

          "Albus, if he's making all those moves…" Grey let it hang.

          "Yes, we will have to find a way to effectively counter them. It is on my mind quite a lot, I assure you. I think, however, that we should save that discussion for another time. Rupert has been explaining to me that to help Miss O'Brien we will need several rather rare items."

          "Miss O'Brien?" Sirius asked.

          "Long story, mate," Spike said. "Someone'll fill you in later."

          "Yes, indeed, I think that would be most beneficial," Dumbledore agreed. "As I was saying, Mr. Giles came to ask me about one item in particular, the Eye of the Golem. It is rather unique. My good friend Nicholas Flamel created it several centuries past."

          "So you do know what it does, then?" Giles said.

          "Indeed. It serves as a filter, removing all emotional intent from the magical energy passed through it."

          "Aah," Giles said, understanding. Once cleansed of all intentions, the magical energy for the _Spring Rain spell could be manipulated to balance the purely malevolent energies of the __Plague of Hades. "Does your friend still possess it?"_

          "Sadly not," Dumbledore said, his white beard bobbing side to side with his shaking head. "I'm afraid Nicholas has passed on, and in any case has not possessed it for a good number of years."

          Harry caught Ron's eye, and the redhead nodded sadly.

          "Perhaps one of my associates with the Watcher's Council will know where it rests. I also have several other avenues of inquiry to pursue," Giles said, his eyes distant with thought.

          "I suggest you pursue them quickly," Dumbledore said. "Based on the frequency and severity of attacks, I would say the sooner we can put this matter to rest, the better off we'll be. Sirius, might I suggest that you remain with us for the time being?"

          The escaped prisoner nodded.

          "I can change form for the majority of the time. One of you can say that you got a dog for Christmas."

          "I quite agree. Perhaps Spike would be willing to house you?"

          "Sure, why not," the vampire said. "You like _Passions, mate?"_


	55. Questing I: What Once was Lost

          Not knowing where else to take him, Harry brought Sirius to the hill overlooking the Quidditch field. Spike had swept the area several times and the meeting took place after lights out. When they were certain that they were alone, Sirius took his human form and sat next to Harry. They discussed the new and fantastic events at length, then drifted into uncomfortable silence.

          "So how are you doing, Harry?" Both of them felt a bit awkward. They had never had time to establish their relationship properly, and neither one knew quite how to approach the other.

          "I'm doing alright."

          "Schoolwork is good?" James, what would you ask? Help me out here.

          "Yes. I've actually had one of my better semesters," he said proudly. It felt good to talk about mundane things with someone. He had never been able to do that with anyone remotely resembling family, and he decided to push forward with it. "Ron made the Quidditch team, you know."

          "What spot?"

          "Keeper. We needed one badly. Our next game is in a week or so, with Slytherin. I'm really glad he did. I see him less now than I did before…"

          "Before what?"

          "He and Hermione are sort of … together."

          "I know how you feel. When your father finally began to date Lily, I had the same problem." He gave Harry a knowing look. "She was friendly with us for a long while before it actually happened, though Remus, Peter, and I saw it a ways off. You feel lonely?"

          "Sort of, yeah. I mean, I see them. It's not terrible, just …" He trailed off.

          "Like I said, I know how you feel," Sirius said, nodding. "I had Remus and Peter, but Remus dated quite often himself."

          "How'd you deal with it?"

          "Found a girl of my own." He paused in thought. "Then another, and another one after her." He glanced at his best friend's son. "My example is probably not the best." They both laughed. "Still, it's not a bad solution. Any possibility of that?"

          Harry frowned. Dawn and Ginny's faces both popped into his mind. With Dawn living half a world away, he knew that could never work, intriguing though she might be. Ginny … Harry and Ginny had been spending more time together of late, and he was beginning to realize that she was more than a shy little girl. Still, she was Ginny. Ron's sister, and therefore not the solution Sirius was talking about, no matter how he might feel.

          "Not really." The conversation paused awkwardly, as Sirius was unsure what to say. Harry saved him by pressing forward on another subject. "What do you think you'll do now?"

          "Don't know. Whatever Dumbledore needs, most likely. I'd like to stay here for awhile, though. Maybe catch a Quidditch match or two, if that's alright with you?"

          "That would be great," Harry said, excited by the possibility of an extended visit with Sirius. Maybe I'll finally learn what it's like to have a real family, he thought hopefully.

          "Hello?"

          "Wesley, is that you?"

          "Rupert. How are you?" The guarded voice on the other end of the line sounded darker than the Wesley he remembered.

          "I'm doing fine, Wesley. And yourself?"

          "Erm … well, thanks," the younger Watcher said tentatively. "Though it has been a bit of a long week. What can I do for you?"

          "I'm searching for a particular relic to perform a spell entitled _Spring Rain, and I wondered if you might aid me in tracking down a lead on its location."_

          "That's an evil purification spell, if I'm not mistaken."

          "That's correct. We have an … associate here who has been bewitched by a terribly potent magic."

          "That sounds unpleasant. What is the name of the artifact in question?"

          "It's a device called the Eye of the Golem."

          "Oh my," Wesley said, startled. "I am quite familiar with that. Could you hold on a moment? I think we need Angel on the line as well."

          "Certainly." Giles heard shuffling, and then the click of a second phone lifting.

          "Giles?"

          "Angel. How are you?"

          "Things are a little hectic, truthfully. I called Buffy to see if she might help, but she's tied up with a post-vacation backlog." The vampire shifted gears quickly. "Wesley said you're looking for the Eye of the Golem."

          "Quite desperately. Do you know something about it? Possibly its location?"

          There was a pause on the other end of the line.

          "Up until yesterday, it was here."

          "And where is it now?"

          "Stolen."

          "Oh my."

          "So the poof had it an' lost it. Why am I not surprised?" Spike was back in Dumbledore's office with the group from Christmas Day, minus Harry and Ron.

          "The poof?" Sirius asked.

          "Angel."

          "And he's the Slayer's vampire ex-boyfriend? With a soul?" Spike had filled him in on the entire story the night before.

          "That's the one, Puddles."

          "I told you not to call me that," Sirius growled. Despite the vampire's invitation to hide him, the two grated on each other more with each passing hour. Sirius had slept in dog form the night before in a corner of Spike's dungeon, and woke in a pool of water. The vampire, for some reason, thought it extraordinarily funny when Sirius shook off the water, then changed to human form to find himself still completely soaked.

          "How did this man Angel come to possess the Eye?" Dumbledore asked.

          "It seems that when he left Sunnydale, he removed several dangerous artifacts for safekeeping. The Eye was one. Apparently a number of demons broke in to his office two days ago and stole the entire collection."

          "Is it connected to our search?" Grey asked. Giles shook his head.

          "I doubt it. First of all, we only learned of it days ago ourselves. Secondly, there are a number of powerful devices which could have been the target."

          "We need to find it and get it back. Is Angel going to retrieve it?"

          "I asked him that. He doesn't believe he has the forces to do so. It seems that the robbery damaged his headquarters and injured some of his allies. Buffy has been away from Sunnydale for too long as it is." Buffy had already called Giles with the disturbing news that a human serial killer stalked the Sunnydale streets. "I don't believe that she can help."

          Spike knew where this was heading.

          "Go on and say it, Watcher. You want the Big Bad to go help Peaches, right?"

          "Well, Spike, honestly, you're the most … logical choice."

          "You mean expendable."

          "No, not at all. I simply mean …" 

          Spike stopped him with a raised hand. "Didn't say you were wrong, Rupes. Just tryin' to be straight about it." He rolled his shoulders to release the rising tension. He could deal with the poof in exchange for a little action. "I'll help find the Eye. Could use a good scrum anyway. Need some help getting there, though, and getting back." Returning to Hogwarts from Los Angeles without air travel would be tedious, but Spike's vulnerabities made such a long flight impossible.

          "Perhaps you might be willing to go with him, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked.

          "I really don't want to leave Harry."

          "I'll watch out for him, Sirius," Grey said. "He'll be safer more quickly if we get the Eye. You're the only other wizard without an objective condition that forces you to stay."

          Sirius knew it was true, but he had really begun to enjoy Harry's company. Talking with the boy had almost been like having James back. Dumbledore saw the play of emotions on his face, and put his hand on the younger man's thin shoulder.

          "Regardless of whether you undertake this mission, Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, "we should discuss alternatives to keep you here on a more permanent basis. I think it would benefit both of you, and I daresay I can come up with something."

          Sirius glanced at Dumbledore, tears shiny in his eyes, and nodded. For that to work, though, Harry had to be safe. In the end, that decided him more than anything. 

          "I'll do it. Then, when I come back, I'll come back to stay."


	56. Internal Conflicts

          "Wormtail."

          Pettigrew scurried across the room and sank to his knees in supplication.

          "Yes, master? How may I serve you, my lord?" Along with two robed Death Eater guards, they occupied Voldemort's royal quarters in the ancient castle that he called home. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting shadows on the dilapidated remains of paintings and tapestries. The furniture, scoured from rooms to decrepit for use, was dark, heavy, and ornate. A cauldron bubbled with a foul-smelling brown liquid in the corner.

          Voldemort reveled in the fear behind Wormtail's pleading.

          "I believe we have placed too much trust in the dark sorceress. She rapidly approaches the time when the spells will fail, and she has been unable to fulfill any of my objectives. We must take steps to ensure her destruction."

          "A-anything, my lord. What would you have me do?" Wormtail's words faltered, revealing his fear of her. His master's red eyes showed no hint of his amusement.

          "We have some time yet. I wish to first eliminate that meddlesome auror and his red-haired witch. Lovely word, meddlesome, don't you think?" Pettigrew nodded vigorously. "They have greatly disrupted our plans, and I believe they wish to restore Precious to their side. This we must not allow."

          "I thought…" He trailed off as the red orbs focused on him. Voldemort motioned for him to continue. "I thought you wished to turn the other witch, master."

          "I did, but the episode we are currently enduring has convinced me that it will be easier to simply destroy them both. Send two of the Hunters."

          "Th-the H-H-Hunters, my lord?" Wormtail's stomach spun with frightened nausea. "Are you certain?"

          "Yes," Voldemort said, an eerie grin creasing his skull-like visage. "I think they are most appropriate, don't you agree?"

          "O-of course, my lord. Of course."

          "I wish for you to contact Malfoy as well. Tell him the time has come to rid ourselves of that problem at the Ministry. He will understand."

          "Yes, my lord."

          "And after that, we shall take good care of Precious."

          Tara followed Willow back to her dorm after the evening meal. She could tell that her friend needed some girl time.

          "So when did he say they wanted to have dinner?"

          "Tomorrow night. His parents are nice, especially his mom. Grey said she can be scary with the authority, but she just seemed sweet to me."

          "Are you nervous about it?" Willow gave the password to the English lady, and they collapsed on the comfy cushions that dotted her floor.

          "Not really. I met them before, and they seemed to like me."

          "Of course they did, honey. You're the nice Jewish girl, right?" They smiled. "S-something's got you nervous, though," Tara said.

          "How'd you know? Do you think he noticed?"

          "I could see it in the way you always have your hands bunched up lately. And no, I don't think he did."

          "Good. I'm not always the best with the secret-keeping or the tension-hiding, you know?"

          "I know. Do … do you want to talk about it?" Their restarted friendship had gone well since Tara's return, but they had pointedly avoided any serious romantic talks about Willow and Grey.

          "Do you mind? I kind of do, but if it'll make you unhappy or upset, I don't want that. I mean, it's not that big of a deal, and I'm probably being stupid anyway, and it doesn't…"

          "Will." Tara interrupted the babble before it got out of hand. "I want to be able to talk about everything with you. I-I don't want you to feel like you have to hold back. That would hurt me more." Willow nodded, inhaled deeply, and explained. 

          "It's just … everything's the same, but different. I'm really afraid, y'know? Our whole relationship started because he let her go. Okay, granted he could let her go because she went all Morgan Le Fay on him, but now it's more of a Patty Hearst kind of deal. If we pull this off, she comes back just like she was, probably with no strings attached."

          "Y-you think he'll leave you for her?"

          "He says he won't, but he almost did when she was evil. I know I'm being majorly possessive and that I'm a capable, independent woman who should function on her own with no problem, and I trust him a whole heckuva lot … but I don't want him to go."

          "I understand, sweetie. Have you talked to him about it?"

          Willow folded her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Sort of. Not the easiest thing to bring up – hey, how's it going, are you going to climb out of my bed and into hers anytime soon? Not so much the road I want to go down."

          "I know, Willow, but you can't let the anxiety overwhelm you. It will ruin the time you do have with him and make you miserable."

          "I just can't hold it in check. And my last magic lesson? Everything nearly went kablooie because my emotions are all wonky." Seeing Tara's face, she quickly clarified. "Not dark magic wonky. I just couldn't make the spells work right. Instead of a fireball, I got a snowball. That kind of thing." Tara visibly relaxed.

          "This is a conversation you need to have with him. I don't think you need to worry, but I see why you are. Hearing him say it will make you less nervous."

          "You don't think I need to worry?"

          "Y-you can't see it," she said, thinking of Grey's eyes on Willow. "When you aren't looking … the way he watches you … it's like he's afraid you'll vanish, so he has to memorize everything before you do." Tara remembered giving Willow the same look and knew she didn't have the right words to explain it to her. "Have you told him you love him?"

          "No," the redhead said, her throat constricting. "I don't want to pressure him, especially now. If he wants out … I don't want him to stay because I trapped him into it. I think I need to wait and see what happens before I tell him that."

          "I-if you think that's best, that's what you should do."

          "You don't?" Tara shook her head.

          "No. I-I think if you love him and you're afraid, you need to be more honest, not less. Hiding this won't make it go away."

          "I know that. But it's …" she trailed off, trying to express herself correctly. She needed Tara to understand. "I want to be honest. He knows I care about him, and I know he cares about me. So that's of the good. He even told me that if he thought he might go back, he would never have been with me in the first place. That should be enough. I mean, he flat out said it, right?"

          "So what's the problem?" Tara said. "Do you th-think he's lying?"

          "No!" Alarmed, Willow looked at her friend carefully. "Do … do you?"

          Tara's hair fluttered across her face as her head moved from side to side.

          "No, I don't. But what could he say that would convince you?"

          Willow thought hard for a minute, then sighed. "I don't think anything. When you came back, he said that he thought that I wouldn't know, until you were here, who I wanted to be with. I think he might have been doing a little Freud on himself and projecting."

          "Without knowing it?"

          "Uh-huh."

          "A-agreed," Tara acknowledged. "I still think the best cure is honesty."

          Willow shrugged sadly, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. She wished for more confidence. Then maybe she could confront him about this, and accept what came of it. She remembered the feeling well from her days of chasing Xander; she liked it less now than she had then. A lot less.

          "Maybe," she said finally, "if I get the right moment I'll say something. Not outright, mind you, just sort of hint at it."

          Tara nodded her agreement, knowing that would be the best her friend could do.


	57. Answers

          "Professor Giles?" A blonde head peeked through the doorway.

          "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Giles had taken a number of research books to his classroom, and was slowly wading through them after classes.

          "Might I … I wanted to ask you some questions." Draco needed to discuss his position with someone, but his options were limited. Dumbledore frightened him. Snape very likely had returned to the Death Eater fold, so talking with him would only get Draco killed. Spike had left for parts unknown. The Dark Arts professor was the only other person with any useful perspective on Draco's problem. He knew Giles held very little affection for him, but figured that the former Watcher would listen if he didn't know the personal nature of the problem.

          "Come in, then, and please shut the door." Malfoy took a seat across the desk. Giles saw in front of him very little of the arrogant bastard Malfoy had been for the first several months of the year. He seemed nervous and fidgety now; despite his initial distaste for the boy, Malfoy's assistance during the two attacks motivated Giles to give him another chance. "What can I do for you, young man?"

          "I'd like to ask you some questions about some of the things we have discussed in class, if that's alright. I … understand most of the homework and assignments well, but there are some minor points that could use clarification."  "Of course. What would you like to know?" Giles could tell the request took enormous effort on Malfoy's part, though it seemed simple enough.      Malfoy withdrew a list of questions from his satchel. He had spent an hour devising a set that would inconspicuously draw out the necessary answers.

          "The other day, when you explained to us about the Angel/Angelus phenomenon, I understood that they were two different people. When Angelus became Angel, he ceased to be evil." Malfoy looked up from his notes. Giles agreed, motioning for him to continue. "What if Angelus had remained? Was it possible for him to stop being evil?" Giles removed his classes and cleaned them before responding. The tentative question came out laced with fear, and the Watcher had a flash of insight. Malfoy wanted to know more about himself than about Angel.

          "In my experience, practically anything is possible. I have seen the foulest of creatures willing to sacrifice their lives for the noblest of causes," he said, thinking of Spike battling Glory. "I have also seen good people twisted into such evil beings that they destroy everything around them." An image of Faith flashed into his mind. "Often, it is a matter of motivation. No one's role in life is cast in stone. Not even vampires, and especially not humans," he added, answering the unasked question.

          Malfoy pondered that. His stomach tingled with anxiety.

          "You're talking about Spike as well, aren't you? He's good now, because he broke with Angelus and he's here, fighting evil."

          "Not exactly, Draco. Spike has always been a bit … unusual for a vampire. He is more human than most in any number of ways. I will agree with you about the second part; he can now be counted a good guy, as the Americans say, but when he broke with Angelus, he was still quite evil."

          "I don't understand."

          "Opposing evil does not make one a hero. Vampires and demons routinely war on each other and their own kind, and they are indeed quite villainous. Spike, on the other hand, willingly works to preserve life, often at great risk to his own. That is the essence of goodness, if you will."

          "So whether you are good or evil is judged independently of who your enemies are," Draco concluded.

          "That is correct."

          "Why did Spike switch?" The question on Draco's sheet actually read _Why__ do people choose to be good? He knew when he wrote it that would be too obvious and decided to approach it more obliquely._

          Giles leaned back in his chair, realizing that this question was at the heart of Malfoy's appearance. His answer had to touch the crux of the problem in order to be of any use to the boy. 

          "That, Draco, is an extremely complex question. We have not discussed it in class because I did not feel it was appropriate to describe the personal affairs of a member of the staff." Even Spike, Giles thought distastefully. "If I explain this to you, I would ask that you keep it in the strictest confidence." 

          "Of course, Professor. Actually, I'd rather…" He trailed off.

          "Yes?"

          "I'd rather we kept this conversation in confidence. I don't want anyone to know that I needed additional assistance," Malfoy lied hurriedly, understanding the dire consequences of this trickling down to Snape's ears. The Death Eater and Giles loathed each other, but Malfoy did not want to risk his life on that hatred alone.

          "Certainly. I would not do otherwise," Giles assured him. "Anything you say to me outside of class is between the two of us and no one else." Malfoy thanked him, then waited for Giles to continue. "Spike's transformation required several unrelated steps. The first was that, as I said before, he is more human than most vampires, particularly in his ability to love. According to him, most vampires can care for other vampires emotionally. Spike, however, is capable of astonishing depths of emotion, even for a human. Do you recall Drusilla, the vampiress who visited us this fall?"

          "Yes."

          "She and Spike were … together for more than a century. He risked himself for her time and again. That in itself is severely unusual in the demon world. Then, after they had gone their separate ways, Spike returned to Sunnydale and was captured." Giles described the Initiative and the chip to Malfoy, whose mouth hung open in shock as the meaning of Spike's earlier allusion was revealed in full. Then Giles explained about Spike and Buffy, and about Dawn and Glory.

          "You must understand, Draco," Giles told the stunned boy, "Spike's case is highly unique because he is highly unique. If, for example, one of the Death Eaters wished to switch sides," Giles said, trying to direct his words at Malfoy specifically, "it would be far easier, since their nature would not hinder them as Spike's did."

          "I see," Malfoy said carefully. "He withstood a god. A being of so much power, and a vampire defeated it."

          "Yes, well, there can be great power in resistance. One of the intriguing things about my work as a Watcher was seeing Buffy…" Giles stopped, organizing the thought floating around in his head. "Glory and Angelus were very much evil incarnate, though in different forms. Neither one succeeded in defeating us. While the events were complex, I would have to say that our victory came about because those of us who opposed them utterly refused to surrender. No matter what torture they devised, we continued to fight them, Spike included. I suppose that is one of the innate advantages of being good. It can be quite powerful."

          The last sentence resonated in Malfoy's mind, and Draco thought of his father. Why was he evil? He craved power, and evil gave him that. Draco wanted power as well; he loved it and always had, even as a small child. Tormenting others, which he greatly enjoyed, provided that in abundance. Of course, in the end, there were always people that he, like Angelus and Glory, had been unable to gain power over. Granger, Potter and Weasley, of course. Even Longbottom had resisted his tortures, daring to go so far as to physically strike him. Their behavior gave them power over him; no matter what he had done, he had always been forced to seek another means to bring them low. Just as the Slayer had done with Angelus and Glory.

          "I can see that," he responded softly. Good people, it seemed, had great power of their own. It was something to consider.


	58. Questing II: Honor Among Thieves

          Friday nights were never quiet at St. George's. Even in the Recovery wing, families would traipse about at all hours. After eighteen years of it, though, Marjorie Johnson had grown accustomed to the hustle and bustle. She had also acclimated to the rare arguments between family members, even the ones that devolved into shoving matches or fistfights when tensions ran high. Occasionally things did get out of hand; on the scariest night of her life, nine years before, a man snuck in a gun and shot his father-in-law as they stood by his wife's bed.

The bang that erupted from Room 357 dwarfed the sound of that long ago gunshot, and Marjorie raced out from behind the reception desk expecting to find another body. She rushed down the hall and into the room, followed closely by two police officers whose weapons were drawn and ready. 

Rather than a murderer, they found a glowering dark-haired man tightening his fingers around the throat of a pale blonde in a leather coat. The blonde's head rested in a newly formed dent in the wall; two other men, both bearded, did their best to separate the combatants. Miraculously, both patients slept soundly anyway.

          "What do you think you're doing?!?" Marjorie shouted.

          All four of them turned to look at her. A smile played across the blonde's lips as the other man released him.

          "Way to go, Peaches," Spike said under his breath.

          "Umm … sorry, ma'am," Angel said abashedly, his eyes flicking over to the blonde angrily. "Just a misunderstanding."

          The nurse glared at him for a full five seconds before responding. "This is a hospital. If you have disagreements, we prefer that you visit at alternate times." She paused again, allowing her look to burn into them both. "Now, will these gentlemen need to escort one of you out?"

          The vampires traded a look before Angel shook his head. The nurse departed, muttering about broken homes and family values. The guards added disapproving looks of their own as they left.

          "Pillock," Sirius said, shaking his head.

          "She's just doing her job, mate," Spike said. He withdrew a cigarette from his coat, but thought better of igniting it as his eyes roamed over the inert forms of Gunn and Cordelia. Both had absorbed painful thrashings at the hands of the demon thieves; bruises splotched Cordelia's face, and Gunn's cheek bore a nasty cut. Three of their eight limbs sported casts, and Cordy's shoulder would take months to heal from the dislocation. The doctors expected them to remain under hospital supervision for at least another week.

          "I was talking about you," he responded.

          "Just sayin', the poof here should do as good a job as the Slayer when it comes to …" Angel's growl cut him off.

          "We do not have time for this," Wesley said harshly. "The longer you two strut, the more likely it is that those artifacts reach the black market."

          "How many of them were there, Angel?" Sirius asked, hoping to get them back on track. The Spike/Angel show was wearing thin on his frayed patience. Angel seemed reasonable enough, but Spike was such a pain in the ass that Sirius wanted to stake him almost as much as Angel did.

          "Eight or ten, Sirius. Some Fyarl demons and several vampires."

          "Fyarl demons?" Sirius asked.

          "Foot soldier types," Spike said. "Strong, large, ram horns on their heads. Paralyzing mucus, as well."

          "Are you kidding?"

          "Sure, Puddles. I'm kidding."

          "Back off," Angel warned. "It sounds ridiculous," he said to Sirius, "but it's true."

          "Where're all your boys, mate?"

          "Cordy and Gunn took the brunt of the assault. Lorne and Fred went to grab some food. That's all there is."

          Spike shook his head.

          "Do we know where to find the guys who did this?"

          "No, Sirius. But I know who we can ask. We're just waiting for one more person, then we can head out."

          "Where're we off to?" Spike asked.

          "I know a fence, only works high level mystical artifacts. He either had it done or turned the job down. He's the best in the city."

          "And whose sorry ass might we be waitin' for?

          "My son." Angel turned to catch the look on Spike's face as he said it. 

          Spike dropped the unlit cigarette from his hand.

          "YOUR BLOODY SON?!? Bugger all! Who's the lucky mommy? And do I even want to know how?"

          "It's Darla. And no, you don't. We don't have time."

          "DARLA! SHE'S DEAD!"

          "Uh huh."

          "You knew my mother?" The voice echoed from the hallway. A teenage boy stepped into view. 

          Spike gaped, then looked from Angel to Connor and back. He nodded.

          "Spike and Sirius, meet Connor. Connor, Spike and Sirius." Angel walked over to his son. The tension between them was palpable, even to Sirius. "Thank you for coming."

          "This is for Cordelia. Not you." He glanced sorrowfully at the wounded girl. 

Angel nodded and motioned for them to follow him. Wesley had agreed to stay behind and guard the wounded.

Spike turned to Sirius on the way out.

          "Let's go see a man about an eye, then."

          Angel led them to a demon bar in one of the shadier sections of Hollywood. A number of motorcycles waited silently on the curb, their owners enjoying a few belts inside. A large neon sign proclaimed the name of the bar in blue letters: The Rest Room. Spike chuckled when he saw it.

          "My kind of place. Keep your wand handy, Puddles."

          Annoyed, Sirius said nothing but made sure his wand hand was clear.

          The bouncer, whose head and limbs were mere afterthoughts tacked on to his massive stomach, wore grotesque leather pants and a leather vest that hadn't fit in twenty years. His eyes glowed green.

          "Where do you think you fancy pants kids are goin'?" The bouncer's evil smirk revealed hundreds of needle-like teeth. He knew Angel and liked him, but they did pay him to bounce.

Angel called out his game face and snarled. "We're here to see a man about a job, Raef." The bouncer immediately softened and gestured for them to enter.

          "Upstairs. Last door on the right."

          Knifing easily through the crowd, Angel took them through the mass of demons and up a rickety set of stairs. The hallway, painted in the faded mustard color reserved for tenements in the slums, only had one door. Angel broke the lock with a hard push.

          "Some people ah kahnd enough to knock, young man," the demon behind the desk said in a thick Georgia drawl. Two vampires stood guard on his sides. Though human-looking, he had red scales rather than skin, and a neatly trimmed goatee. His purple suit was complemented by a black bowler.

          "Is that an actual zoot suit, mate? Haven't seen one in ages," Spike said.

          "Hello, Randy." Angel ignored Spike. "Been awhile."

          "Indeed it has, mah friend. What brings y'all to these heah pahts?"

          "Somebody did a number on my friends and took some things that don't belong to them. I want them."

          "Ah see. And why would you think ah have any knowledge," he drew that word out, "of this unfoeseen occurrence?"

          "This was serious stuff, the kind you usually take. Did someone approach you about hitting my place?"

          "If they did, that would be between me and mah client. You know that, Angel." Angel brought out his game face, and Spike followed suit. Sirius brought his wand out.

          "I know you'll tell me, or we'll have a problem."

          "I believe you ah wrong on both counts. Boys," Randy said. The vampires came from around the desk towards Angel. Spike and Connor moved at the same time. Spike kicked the left vampire in the groin, then hit him with a vicious uppercut as he fell. He grabbed the stunned vamp by the collar and pummeled him with his right hand.

          Connor whipped out a stake and dusted the other vampire before it could react. He tossed the stake to Spike, who hit his vamp once more for good measure and then staked him too. Randy, eyes wide in horror, tried to burrow deeper into his chair.

          "I know you'll tell me, or we'll have a problem," Angel repeated.

          "Now, Angel, ah can't help you, ah told you that." Sirius waved his wand and muttered a few words. Randy lifted from his chair and slammed spread eagle against the back wall.

          "Good work, Puddles."

          "Spike, shut up and pin him up there, will you?" Spike took the stake and slammed it through the demon's left shoulder. Connor pulled another and did the same on the right; Randy howled in pain as he hung from them. "I'll put this bluntly, you wanker. A friend of ours needs some of that stuff urgently, or a number of children are going to die. While you might not care, it upsets the rest of us greatly."

          "Ah turned down the job, awlright?" The pain reduced him to whimpering. "The guy who offuhd it is new in town, works foah a New York vampire. Ah told him ah had a moral obligation not to hit Angel's place."

          "More like a continue un-living obligation. Where is he?" Angel asked.

          "Don't know." Spike twisted one of the stakes, drawing a blood-curdling scream. "Ah … ah have a phone numbuh. Muh Pahm Pilot. On the desk. His name is Vance." Sirius watched in awe as Angel picked up a rectangular piece of silver inlaid with glass, and began tapping on it.

          "What is that thing?"

          "Address book. Muggle technology," Spike replied. "Holds information, like a notebook." Sirius shook his head in wonder.

          "Got the number," Angel said.

          "What now?" Connor asked.

          "We call him, and set up a meeting. Thanks, Randy. Anybody comes asking about a crew who works for you sometimes, you tell them the guys are the best you have. Got it?" He nodded. 

          The four of them walked out, leaving the demon thief staked to the wall.

          "I'm looking for Vance," Angel said into the cell phone. They were lingering outside of a McDonald's two blocks from The Rest Room.

          "And you are?" The voice was deep and obviously male.

          "Liam. Randy said Vance has been offering jobs around."

          "And that concerns you how, Liam?"

          "My crew is looking for some steady work. We help Randy out sometimes."

          "I see." The voice paused for a minute. Angel nearly hung up before it came back on. "We'll call you. If we don't, and you call us again, it will go poorly for you." Angel heard the click of a disconnected call.

          "Well?" Spike said.

          "They'll ask around, try and check us out. Then, when Randy vouches for us, we meet them and get the Eye back."

          "Sounds simple enough," Sirius said.

          "It should work," he answered, then shrugged. "Always seems to in the movies Cordy makes me watch, anyway."

          "What's a movie?" Sirius asked. 

Spike shook his head and lit a cigarette.


	59. Just Try and Relax

[A/N: Apologies for the delayed updates the last few weeks. Having major league (and as yet unresolved) technical issues, resulting in upload failure and also lost work. Needless to say, we at Capt40 publishing are rather upset. Hopefully, this will be resolved soon, but until it is, we're probly looking at one update a week. – 40]

Willow twirled in a slow circle, letting the long black skirt parachute out around her.

"So, what do you think? Appropriate for a session with prospective in-laws?" Hermione, Ginny and Tara nodded.

"You look beautiful, Willow," Tara said. Willow had on a fuzzy white form-fitting sweater with the skirt, and a pair of silver hoop earrings borrowed from Tara. The sweater set off her eyes and hair perfectly, and the skirt had a print of a white flower that began at the bottom and ended at her knee.

"Where are you having dinner?" Hermione asked.

"The Whistling Swan. Do you know it?"

"Oh, the one in Diagon Alley?"

"Yeah, Gin."

"My parents went there for their twentieth anniversary. My mother talked about it for weeks. You'll love it," Ginny said wistfully, thinking of being somewhere like that with Harry.

"Should I wear regular robes? Or is this better? Grey said it was sort of mildly formal." Willow had no formal robes, so she had decided to switch to amuggle outfit.

"I think you'll be fine," Hermione said, scrunching her face in thought. "What's he wearing?"

"Blue," Ginny said. They laughed heartily. Grey's monochromatic wardrobe was still a source of great amusement to the ladies.

"I told him I had zero in the way of wizard finery, so he agreed to wear muggle clothing, too."

"There's your answer, hon," Tara said. 

They heard a soft tapping at the door.

"Come in," Willow called. Grey stepped through the door and came over to kiss her on the cheek.

"You look lovely," he said simply. "Hey, everyone." They returned the greeting. Tara gave him an especially warm smile; though the initial awkwardness had not faded, each of them worked hard to make the other feel welcome.

"You don't look so bad yourself." Willow grasped his wrists in her hands and spread his arms to give him a once-over. He wore black dress slacks with a black blazer, and a light blue button-down shirt open at the neck. The lightsaber hung from his belt.

"Ready to go?" He lifted both of their arms above his head, twisted, and ended up with his arms around her.

She waited a moment to answer, reveling in feeling all of the tension disappear while he held her.

"Yup. Let's go dine with the 'rents."

Dinner passed quickly. Both of his parents complemented her on her appearance, despite the odd looks many of the other patrons gave her, and the conversation stayed light and pleasant. Afterwards, Willow and Grey bid them good night and decided to stop for a quick ice cream before returning to Hogwarts. They strolled down Diagon Alley hand in hand, enjoying the evening. Willow, her confidence waxing mightily, leaned over and kissed his cheek as they walked.

"What's that for?"

"Oh, you know. Just 'cuz." Her sweet smile melted him. "I'm kinda glad I met you, y'know."

"Well, I'm kinda glad I met you, too," he replied, mimicking her.

She smacked his arm playfully.

"You know I hate it when you do that."

"What?"

"Mock me, like a big dope."

"Oh, I'm a big dope?" He grabbed her around the waist and spun them both around. She squealed as her feet left the ground, and by the time he brought her back down, they were kissing.

"Will?"

"Uh huh?" She said dreamily.

"What's wrong with you lately?"

The airy expression vanished from her face as she took a step back.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem really nervous all the time. Is it about me?"

The silence lasted a little longer than it should have.

"What about me?"

"No, Grey, it's not. Well, it sorta is, but it's no big deal, I mean…"

He cut her off. He had a pretty good idea of what the problem was, since he had it to.

"It's Jess, isn't it? That she's not evil, just … trapped?"

Willow nodded, looking away. He pulled her close to him and stroked her hair. He had his own serious doubts about that topic, but now was not the time for them. Better to reassure her now and figure things out later.

"Will," he said, holding her at arm's length, "I know how you feel. I do. Even though I don't want to, I feel it sometimes when I see you with Tara. It's uncomfortable, and it sucks."

"I would never…"

"I know. I know. I don't think for a moment that you would." He pulled her in, putting them almost nose to nose, and stared into her luminous eyes from six inches away. "I'm with you. I'd rather die than hurt you, and I wouldn't be with you if I thought I might go back to her. It's okay to tell me if you're worried – nothing I say will make it permanently right until you see it come true, but I'll tell you as much as you like. It might help a little."

He slipped his arms further around her, enveloping her in his warmth. The hug became a hold, then turned into a tender kiss. She was about to go for broke when he pulled away, a look of shock and horror on his face.

"Willow, look out!" Grey screamed. 

He saw the movement before it happened, just a flash of arm and a black blade. He shoved her away; his lightsaber igniting of its own accord in the path of a powerful strike. The alien blade struck again and then a third time, but Grey parried them both. His eyes, unable to follow the whirling colors, instead focused on the visions that rippled one after another through his brain. Each time his assailant launched an attack, Grey saw it first and the lightsaber responded. The meeting of the two blades filled the night with explosive concussions.

Behind Willow, a second attacker erupted with an ear-splitting roar and charged. Spinning at the noise, she flicked her wrist and muttered a short incantation. A shield of air appeared between them, momentarily halting his furious assault. 

The enforced pause granted her time for a swift appraisal. He was larger than a normal man, nearly seven feet tall, and muscular under the black pants and shirt that coated him like a second skin. Wind from the shield billowed his black cape out, a dark ribbon slicing the air behind him. 

His metal faceplate resembled a full version of the Phantom of the Opera mask, this one forged from silver. Behind it, clouds of dark energy swirled in place of flesh and bone. His black blade grew from a lightsaber similar to Grey's, this one carved from obsidian.

Calling easily on her power, Willow lifted off into the sky. The magic surged through her; for the first time in more than a year, the accompanying rush of anger remained a soft thrum instead of the usual clanging din. Her thoughts came clearly and she instinctively knew she could wield her power without fear of surrendering to it.

Below her, the visions of his opponent's attacks hit Grey like a sledgehammer. His body moved in response to them without conscious input. Trapped by the enchantment of his weapon, he parried the demon's skillful attacks with ease, but the magic prevented a thrust or a slash to break the rhythm. Noticing Grey's struggle, the dark warrior pressed harder and drove him back towards the buildings. Ten more feet, Grey realized, and he wouldn't be maneuvering anymore. He'd be shish kabob. Oblivious to the additional danger, the visions coaxed his body to retreat further.

Willow tossed a fireball; the second demon caught it on the blade easily and boomed a mocking laugh. Two bolts of pure energy brought the same result. She needed something he couldn't block; as a distraction, she froze some of the moisture in the air into a dozen jagged spikes of ice. He nimbly swiped the blade through the center of each, his mocking laughter still echoing inside her head. 

Time to change tactics, she thought.

Lifting her arms over her head, she channeled her power and called for what she wanted.

"Listen up," she said to the monster, wishing Buffy could hear her quip. A strange whistling sound filled the air, gathering strength and focus at her fingertips. When she turned it loose, a solid sphere of pure sound blasted into the creature. Some of it caught on the lightsaber; the remainder impacted the evil beast directly, ripping it asunder with the whisper of tearing paper.

"Grey!" Her voice rolled along the same sound waves that mutilated her attacker. "Clear out!"

He heard her, and tried to obey. The visions kept coming, though, and he couldn't bring himself to resist them. The creature had him nearly against the wall; several quick slashes would provide some wiggle room, but Grey couldn't make them happen. 

From above, Willow saw him nearly cornered and realized he couldn't escape. Reaching out with her magic, she grasped Grey and flung him across the street with a silent prayer for his safety. Then she landed between the other demon and her lover.

"What are you?"

"I am a Hunter, witch." The voice had the same booming tone of the dead one. "My lord wishes you dead, and I am happy to hunt you."

"So cliché," Willow said. "I am happy to hunt you? What is that?" Thank God for years of fighting with Buffy. "And what's with the mask? Shouldn't you be in a sewer somewhere?"

He didn't answer. Instead, the massive form rushed her with his blade extended. She pulled the earth from under him like a rug, tossing him into the air. Her mind held him aloft. She gradually increased the pressure, crushing him in a giant fist of magical power. From across the street, Grey marveled at the display and wondered silently if his next opponent would be Willow.

After ten agonizing seconds, the force squeezed the life from the creature, its time ending in an explosion of dark energy that Willow sloughed off into the atmosphere. Grey grabbed the lightsaber and went running over to her.

The first thing he saw was the eyes.

"Willow, your eyes…"

"Grey, it's okay, I'm…"

"They're green." He threw his arms around and clutched her to him. "It worked." He touched the necklace briefly with his index finger. "Didn't it?" 

She nodded.

"I could feel the power, but I could do whatever I wanted. I didn't feel the urge to try and blast him apart."

"That's so great, Will." His smile lit up the night. "I hoped it might do that. I think if you draw on a ton of power, you might still have problems, though."

"We'll deal with that later," she said pensively. "What happened to you?"

"I could …" he paused, trying to translate the odd visions into words. "I could see the attacks before they happened. Right before they jumped us, I saw the slashing blade. The lightsaber responded to the visions, but it was beyond my control. I couldn't even attack, because every time I tried I saw his next move and countered it automatically."

"Why? Do you think that Hunter was causing it?"

"Don't know." He thought about it. "Maybe it's your power boost."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, before, it would guide my actions and anticipate threats, right?" She nodded. "Now, you and Tara made it more powerful. Instead of feeling the attacks, I can see them before they happen."

"Oh my god, Grey, I had no idea…" 

He put a reassuring hand on her arm.

"Not your fault, Willow. Besides, I was perfectly safe. The blade moved so fast … I doubt he could have hit me. The spell definitely made me more skilled.

"We might need to tweak that a little, huh?"

"Maybe. If I could get control of it, it would be an almost unbeatable advantage."

"Not if some beastie gets all claw happy on you before you do, though."

"Good point. For the time being, we should probably remove it," he said, hoping not to offend her.

She nodded her agreement and grasped his lightsaber. The disc came loose with a small flash, and she tucked it away in her purse.

"What were those things?" She asked. "What's a Hunter?"

He sighed. "Until now? A myth. They've been in hiding since Voldemort fell, and people eventually convinced themselves that they didn't exist."

"Were they the aurors that went over to the Dark Side?"

"Originally, yes," Grey answered with a nod, "but Voldemort improved them, beefed them up and infused them with dark energy. Who knows whether they're the real ones, or just new ones he made? My father once told me that they would always fight to the death, that they worshipped Voldemort like a God."

"That's a little scary."

"Tell me about it. They're also fierce fighters. If not for the Viagra you gave to the enchantment, I doubt I could have stayed alive as long as I did. As it was he nearly beat me, and I've never moved so fast with any weapon in my life."

"We should get back," she said anxiously. "Giles and Dumbledore need to know about this. If one of those things comes to the school …" She let the rest go unsaid, and so did Grey.


	60. Soaring

          "It's too bad you never got to hear Wood's speeches," Harry whispered. "Angelina tries, but she can't match him." The Seeker paused. "You okay?"

          Ron's normally white face matched the grass of the Quidditch pitch. His stomach had so many knots that he thought it might never come untied. Fingering the golden embroidery of his Gryffindor uniform, he pondered where the best place to throw up would be.

          "Ron, are you listening to me?" Angelina asked. He looked up, having been lost in his nervousness.

          "N-no…"

          "Then I'll say it again. You look like you ate a bucket of broccoli. Relax. We would have left you in the hospital if we thought you couldn't do it." She turned to the rest of the team. "After the pounding that Hufflepuff gave Ravenclaw, we need a two-hundred point win to have a chance at taking the Quidditch Cup from Slytherin. Is it unlikely? Yes. Can we do it? Yes. Harry, make sure you keep Malfoy away from the Snitch until we have a fifty-point cushion." 

Harry nodded. He hadn't spent many matches perfecting the Seeker's defensive role, but he had confidence. He wondered if Malfoy would act differently this time around, but, on further reflection, highly doubted it.

          "Malfoy! Pay attention! Can't have any accidents on the broomstick, do you understand me? Slytherins should have impeccable hygiene while in the air," his Captain sneered. 

Malfoy seethed in silence. Of all the abuse he had absorbed during the year, the worst had come from his Quidditch teammates. They never missed an opportunity to berate him.

          "Now, everyone should drink exactly six ounces of this." He passed around full cups of a steaming green liquid. They all drank. "Everything will seem slower, but you'll be moving normal speed. Just like we practiced. They need a huge win to keep us from the Cup, and they have that Weasley boy as their Keeper. The game plan is simple. Score early and often. If you get a chance, make them bleed." The Slytherin Captain looked around at the smiling faces of his teammates. "Shall we?"

          The stadium never looked so vast. Ron tried to take it all in, but everything seemed to blend together into one overwhelming din. Even with the fresh snowfall and the freezing conditions, the entire school had turned out to see the deciding match of the first round, and they all seemed to be cheering at once. If Slytherin won, with their overall record and point totals, they would win the cup outright. A Gryffindor win by two hundred points would force a playoff in the spring; anything less would hand the Quidditch Cup to Slytherin. 

          Thinking of the pressure, Ron's stomach did its tenth barrel roll in ten minutes. Harry patted him on the shoulder. Watching his nervous friend made him feel more confident. Glancing around the stands, he saw Grey, Willow, Tara, Giles and Hermione lumped together in the Gryffindor section. They cheered loudly, decked out in maroon and gold winter robes over their clothing. He offered a short wave and turned back to Ron, who had turned to feverishly biting his nails.

          Angelina took the other Chasers, Katie Bell and Melissa Norton, and the Weasley twins aside as she watched Ron and Harry.

          "Listen, here's what I want you to do: let Slytherin take the first possession. Hassle them, but let them shoot on Ron at once."

          "What?" Fred shouted. "Are you daft?"

          "No," she said, her voice reasonable. "He's nervous. Remember during the tryout? After one shot, he loosened up right away. If we don't let him get that first shot out of the way, he'll get more and more nervous. Let them through, understand?" Fred nodded warily, as did the others. "After that, though, kick their slimy serpent asses!"

          Both teams mounted their brooms. Angelina declined to shake hands with her Slytherin counterpart; Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and the race was on.

          One of the Slytherin Chasers grabbed the Quaffle immediately. As ordered, Fred and George offered meager resistance to the onslaught. Ron saw them coming and wondered why his brothers had picked today to play so badly.

          Harry darted across the field, marking Malfoy and watching the boy's eyes for any sign of a Snitch sighting. He immediately knew something was wrong when he saw how unfocused they were.

          Thanks to the magical brew, the game unfolded in front of Malfoy in slow motion. He saw the intricate weave pattern of his Chasers in perfect detail; the increased speed of their perceptions allowed them to turn far more sharply and judge the angles much better. As a result, they advanced on Weasley in a perfect line formation. The third man carried the Quaffle, shielded by the bobbing and weaving of the first two.

          They came on, dancing and sliding through the air, and Ron had no idea where the Quaffle was. The Slytherin Chasers seemed to be flying much better than they ever had before, and he lost track of the red sphere among their twists and turns. Suddenly the first two Chasers broke out of line, while the third hurled the Quaffle. By sheer luck, Ron only had to veer slightly right and down. He caught it in the hollow of his chest; feeling the impact, he realized he had made his first official save.

          His attack of nerves dropped away swiftly. Instead of a deafening mass of sound, he could pick out individual voices yelling. He caught the tail end of Lee Jordan's description over the microphone, the boy's excited voice echoing "Weasley saves it!" across the stadium. He saw the others waiting expectantly for him to clear the Quaffle, and felt the last of the tension in his stomach dissipate. Firing the Quaffle back out to Bell, Ron turned his full attention to the action for the first time.

          On her broom, Angelina smiled and traded a look of triumph with Fred.

          Unfortunately for Gryffindor, the game went poorly after that. Content to play defensively, Slytherin patiently withstood any Gryffindor attempts to break the game open. The two teams traded scores for twenty minutes. Despite Ron's best efforts, the Slytherin chasers had enough skill to put a number of shots past him. Gryffindor inched out to a 60-50 lead before Katie Bell, fed up with the deadlock, indulged herself in a tear. Three goals and two minutes later, Gryffindor had a forty-point lead. 

Meanwhile, Harry tracked Malfoy around the stadium. Draco's eyes darted all over the place at lightning speed.

          "What the hell is wrong with your eyes, Malfoy?" Harry shouted over the crowd.

          Draco couldn't make out the words. Each one slowed down into one long bass note. When Harry finished, Draco shook his head and zoomed off across the field, trying to shake the other boy. He dodged and darted among the players, stands, and columns, trying to rub Harry off on something. As he zoomed by the announcer's tower, he saw the Snitch. Its normally madly fluttering wings seemed to beat in a lazy rhythm.

          Harry saw it, too. They both put on a burst of speed, Harry from above and Draco from below. Rather than aim for the Snitch as Draco, who had lost track of the score, expected him to, Harry went into a steep dive.

          Malfoy had all of the time in the world to grab the Snitch. He heard Harry coming straight for him with plenty of time to dodge, but decided to stay after the Snitch and let Potter pull away.

          Seeing that he would be too late to cut Malfoy off, Harry ended the mid-air game of chicken the only way he could. He slammed his broom headlong into the other, knocking them both off course. When they righted their tumbling brooms, Malfoy shouted a stream of garbled obscenities at Harry and the Snitch had disappeared. They heard Madam Hooch's whistle before either could find it again.

          "Penalty shot to Slytherin! Potter, what on Earth are you doing? Do you know how many Seekers have died trying that move?"

          The best Slytherin Chaser, Jeremy Jacobs, took the Quaffle with a sneer and circled around to shoot. Ron steadied himself. Off to his right, he saw Angelina Johnson hovering at midfield, watching him. He remembered an old trick Wood used to pull; carefully removing a hand from his broom, Ron pointed at Angelina. Her eyebrows went up. Realizing his meaning, she shrugged and nodded, as if to say "I'll try it if you will." He nodded in return and shifted his attention back to Jacobs.

          Just as Jacobs began his run, Harry saw the Snitch again, this time spinning wildly in the far corner. Malfoy did too, and they took off after it. On the ground it would have been a pure foot race.

          Jacobs came straight for Ron. No pretense of ducking and weaving, just a straightforward run at the goal until he reached midfield. He dove for the ground, drawing a collective gasp from the assembled crowd as he pulled out of the dive at the last second and careened into a steep ascent. Fifty feet above Ron's head, he spun his broom and reared back for the shot.

          Harry and Draco closed on the Snitch shoulder to shoulder; Draco knew he could time his burst better than Harry and eagerly waited for the perfect moment, knowing that keeping it from Potter would seal the victory.

          Right before that moment, the potion wore off.

          Jacobs' perception sped back up, throwing the angle of his shot off by a fraction.

          Ron cut sharply towards the Quaffle. The adjustment made the difference. He flew through its path and stopped in perfect position for his gamble. With the end of his broom, he batted the red sphere out perfectly to Angelina, who caught it and took off for the Slytherin goal.

          Draco, his perceptions back to normal, broke late for the Snitch and missed it. Harry edged him off, gaining a half-broom lead as they swung around for another pass. 

Adopting a Slytherin tactic, Harry nudged him left with a kick from the side of his foot. Draco responded with a badly-aimed elbow that Harry ducked under. He heard the roar erupt from the crowd, then caught Lee Jordan's "Angelina scores! She scores!" Bursting ahead of Malfoy one final time, Harry grabbed the Snitch.

          The celebration went on in the Gryffindor common room for hours.

          "I can't believe you did that!" Harry exclaimed for the tenth time. "It took Wood a long time to learn to do that."

          "I know," Ron said, basking in the praise. He had never received this much adulation in his life. His brothers had carried him to the common room on their shoulders, and everyone else offered only slightly less effusive praise. "When he came to visit, he showed me how, and I figured why not try it? How about you, though? Barreling into Malfoy at top speed? Brilliant!"

          "I couldn't think what else to do," Harry said with a grin. Then his expression turned serious. "There was something wrong with him out there today, though. His eyes were moving all over the place really fast."

          "What d'you mean?" Ron said.

          "It just seemed like … I don't know. Maybe it was nothing."

          "Do you think they might have been cheating, somehow, Harry?" Hermione asked. The three of them had managed to carve out some space for themselves amidst the revelry.

          "I don't know. They didn't seem to be flying faster or shooting better than usual."

          "No, their shots were good but not extra hard or anythin'," Ron added.

Before they could discuss it further, Willow and Tara walked over. Grey and McGonagall, as the leaders of Gryffindor house, were discussing the victory in the far corner of the room with an animated Angelina Johnson. The rest of the house swirled around them, savoring the victory over hated Slytherin.

          "Hey!" Willow said brightly. Tara gave them one of her big, shy smiles. "You guys were great! Not that we really get what went on, except for the whole winning the game for Gryffindor thing."

          "Thanks, Willow," Harry said. 

Ron beamed. He had gotten over his crush, mostly, but found it hard to talk with the red-haired professor around. Seeing his expression, Hermione scowled fiercely.

          "So now you play them again in the spring, right?"

          "Yeah," Harry said. "They've changed it so that the first and second place teams play an extra match to decide the cup winner if they have the same record and a close number of points."

          "Sounds like fun," Tara said. "Hopefully it'll be warmer." 

The others nodded their agreement.

          "You need to tell Sirius, Harry," Hermione said.

          "At least now he'll get to see us play," Harry replied with a nod.

          "How are he and Spike doing?" Willow asked.


	61. Questing III: The Obvious Ambush

          "I'm looking for Liam."

          "This is Liam. What can I do for you, Vance?"

          "I think we should meet. Be at this address in one hour." Angel copied down the address, then repeated it back to him.

          "Are we in business?"

          "Depends. Once I see your crew, I'll let you know."

          "I don't like wasting my night off for nothing," Angel snarled. He knew giving in too easily would be obvious.

          Vance hung up in response.

          "What's the deal, Peaches?" Spike asked. He, Sirius, and Angel had been waiting for two days at the Hyperion. Connor checked in every few hours, then disappeared back out into the night.

          "He wants to meet us in an hour."

          "The Prince Poof isn't here," Spike observed.

Angel's anger flared; he grabbed Spike's duster and lifted him off the ground, the vampiric ridges prominent on his face.

          "Call him that to his face and you'll be on the business end of a stake. The only reason you aren't is because Willow sent you to Cordy."

          "Temper, temper."

          Angel dropped him to the floor.

          "You have no idea how much pleasure it would give me to do it, too."

          "Go on an' try then," Spike retorted, his feet shifting into combat position. Two days cooped up with Angel had him itching for a bout of fisticuffs. "Afraid you can't take me? Like Slutty the Vampire Layer? She is afraid o' me, y'know."

          The fierce snarl that escaped Angel's lips reminded Sirius of Remus Lupin. The dark-haired vampire launched himself at Spike, tackling him to the floor of the Hyperion lobby and slamming his fists into the blonde's ribs.

          Spike brought his knee up from the floor, catching his sire between the legs with an enjoyable yelp. His forehead thwacked into Angel's nose with a satisfying crunch and Spike tossed him away. Swiftly rising, the two vampires moved in a slow circle, eager to have at each other.

          "Will you cretins leave off for two minutes?" Sirius accompanied his shout with a flick of his wand, freezing both of them in place. "This is bloody ridiculous. We have a meeting in less than an hour with some people who want to kill us all. Or they will, at any rate. Save your deathmatch for afterwards." He undid the spell, and neither vampire attacked. "Good. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, do we wait for Connor or not?"

          "We can't," Angel said with a shake of his head. "If we aren't there, we'll lose this shot completely. I'll leave a note for him, but we have to go now." The thought of the upcoming meeting drained his ire rapidly. He looked at Spike. The blonde vampire watched him with that annoying smirk plastered on his face.

          "Do you know where this place is?" Spike asked.

          Angel had never developed any interest in American baseball. He didn't even know the rules. But he did know where Dodgers Stadium was, and that was where Vance wanted to meet. With the season still months away, the fence around the parking lot had been padlocked shut. 

Before Sirius could open it with a spell, Spike had ripped it off.

          "Good work, blondie," Sirius said. "Now we won't have to bother re-locking it and making sure no one knows we're already here."

          "Sod off, Puddles," the vampire said. The prospect of an intense fight gleefully bounced around in Spike's head. The short round with Angel had been barely a handshake compared to the warm greeting he expected here. The three of them walked through the gate and into the main lot. Even from three hundred yards they could make out the glow of the flames.

          "Follow my lead," Angel growled. "I want to do this without a fight if we can."

          "You aren't any fun anymore, you know?" When Angel didn't respond, Spike acquiesced. "Bollocks. We'll do it your way."

          "Try not to cry, Spike," Sirius said. "It isn't at all manly." He had his wand close at hand.

          "I'm thinkin' you should shut up, Puddles, and make with a disguise. Whoever's in there will see you as a tasty snack and not much else. And don't do the black dog bit; you don't smell like a dog."

          Sirius waved his wand and muttered a few incantations. Spike and Angel both turned around when they heard the beating of his heart stop. He grinned darkly.

          "Better?"

          "What'd you do?" Angel asked.

          "Disguised myself as a corpse." The vampire nodded, then led them towards the light. Someone had erected a ring of torches in the center of the lot. Outside of the illuminated area, pitch black darkness covered everything. The hairless demon standing inside the circle had oily blue skin, but otherwise seemed completely human. He wore a charcoal pinstripe suit without a shirt. 

          "Vance?" Angel said when they got close enough.

          "Trying to pass yourself off as a thief, Angelus? Not very bright. I'm afraid your associate Randy was most displeased of your treatment of him." He paused in thought. Several vampires and Fyarl demons emerged from the darkness and surrounded them. "It's safe to say that he wasn't very fond of what I did to him either, though. Too bad you weren't at your office when we came calling."

          "Still lookin' to avoid that fight, Peaches?" Spike said pleasantly. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. From beneath his duster, he drew a silver short sword. Sirius had his wand out already. Angel looked at the two of them, trying to decide what to do.

          The hell with it, he decided, and launched himself at Vance.

          "INCENDO!" Sirius shouted, loosing a fireball on a pair of vampires dressed in leather. The female grabbed the male and tossed him in front of it, creating a flaming heap of vampire dust. Sound rumbled deep in her throat as she vamped out and attacked Sirius.

Spike moved in the opposite direction, slashing at one of the Fyarl demons with the sword. A veiny, orange hand went flying and the demon howled in pain.

          Angel hit Vance in the face, sending him to the floor with the impact. When the vampire dove at him, the blue-skinned demon raised his feet and kicked Angel in the chest, knocking him away. The two of them quickly reengaged and began trading blows.

          Leaving the vampires to Sirius and the leader to Angel, Spike engaged the Fyarl demons eagerly. His sword danced and slashed as he gaily darted about. The lumbering demons had greater power but no hope of equaling Spike's speed. In short order, he disposed of half their number. The remaining two, hardly cowed by the deaths of their companions, assaulted him again.

          As the second demon corpse slumped to the floor with its head detached, the Fyarl demons grabbed the upper hand. One of them clubbed Spike from behind; the blow sent him sprawling and his sword clattering away. Dazed, Spike tried unsuccesfully to stumble to his feet as the second demon yanked him into the air by the throat. His clenching fist threatened to pop Spike's head off like a champagne cork. The other one pummeled him from the side, turning the vampire's face into a bloody mess. Mustering his strength through the searing pain, Spike slammed a steel-toed boot into the closest demon's face.

          His attacker saw the boot coming and twisted away; Spike's foot skidded painfully across its cheeks and snagged on the curly horn. The beast released his throat as it frantically clawed at the offending boot, casting Spike into a freefall. The trapped foot halted him in midair and wrenched his ankle painfully.    

He hung there, staring at the ground a full foot away, for what seemed like hours.

When the horn finally snapped off, Spike tumbled to the ground face first. The demon screeched at the blood flowing plentifully over his ear and shoulder, while his partner laughed at the absurd sight.

          On the ground, Spike clambered away, his injured ankle preventing any attempt at standing. Even dragging it along the floor hurt like the devil. Out of options, he decided to improvise.

          "Hey!" He called in Fyarl. "What's that bugger payin' you?"

          "You speak Fyarl?" The demon looked astounded.

          "Yeah, mate, me speak Fyarl. What's he payin' you?" It named a tidy sum. "That's all?" Spike said. "I'll pay you double to work for me."

          The hornless demon, still howling in pain, walked up to its partner with eyes aflame. The haggling demon, which Spike irreverently though of as Horny, put a hand on Hornless' chest.

          "How much?" Horny growled. The other one kept trying to push past him.

          Spike named double the amount, marveling at their stupidity. His eyes swept the floor, searching desperately for his sword.

          "That a lot," the demon said, the garish face reflecting astonishment.

          "No!" Hornless screamed. "My horn gone! I kill him!"

          "No, we get paid!" Horny argued.

          Hornless, angry beyond reason, smashed his comrade with an enormous orange fist. Deep-throated howling followed and an all-out Battle Royale erupted between the two.

          Spike, catching sight of his sword and sighing at the indignity of it, shimmied backwards to grab the sharpened silver weapon. After retrieving it, he watched with a grimace as the two demons fought dirty. When Horny stuck his thumb into Hornless' head wound, Spike felt the bile rise in his throat.

          The demons traded punches angrily for two more minutes before Hornless seized an opportunity and, with a dramatic flourish, tore Horny's head from his meaty body. On the floor, Spike raised himself to a kneeling position in time to see the demon rush him. In its fury, it leaped blindly; the vampire drove the sword into its heart with a lethal twist at the end for good measure.

          Sirius walked over as Spike was wiping the blood from his sword with the fallen corpse.

          "Not bad," the wizard said, offering him a hand up.

          "Showin' some bottle yourself, Puddles," Spike replied, taking the hand and rising, employing the sword to support his tender ankle. Sirius had dusted the remaining vamps with a combination of staking and spells. "How'd the Poof do?" 

          Spike, Sirius and Angel surrounded Vance. Angel's victory had been relatively easy compared to Spike's, though all of them boasted facial cuts that oozed blood, and Sirius felt a sharp pain with every breath. Spike, hobbled slightly by his twisted ankle and careful not to land in any demon parts, sank to one knee and lit a cigarette.

          "Now," Angel snarled, his game face out, "tell us where the artifacts are." Vance's blue color faded slightly under the blood.

          "My master has them. That's all I know. I only had to acquire them."

          "Who is your master?"

          "I can't…"

          "Let me guess, mate," Spike said from the floor. "He'll kill you if you tell us, right?" Vance nodded, hoping to sell his lie. "So we threaten you some more, and eventually we say 'we'll kill you now' or some other bleedin' nonsense, and you finally tell us, right?" The thief shook his head, terrified. "Boring load o' shit, that is. You and your movies," he said to Angel with a shake of his head.

          Spike rose to his feet and pushed past his sire. He clubbed Vance with the hilt of his sword, knocking the demon to the ground. The tip of the sword penetrated the side of Vance's knee and Spike slid it down to the ankle as if he were unzipping the skin. 

          Vance screamed when the air made contact with muscle and bone. Spike took his cigarette in one hand and held it over the wound. He raised an eyebrow to Vance.

          "The Don! I work for the Don!"

          Angel and Spike traded surprised glances.

          "He still out of New York, then?"

          "No, he-he's here, in Los Angeles," Vance whimpered.

          "Where?" Angel asked.

          "H-he moves around. I don't know where."

          Angel kicked him in the head.

          "I swear, I don't know. He spends Friday nights at Caritas, though. Every week since he got here. Caritas."

          Angel wanted to laugh at the irony. He looked at Spike and Sirius and nodded.

          "See? Wasn't that hard. There is one thing more, though."

          "W-what's that?" Vance whined.

          "Don't fuck with Big Bad." Spike stubbed his cigarette out on the inside of Vance's leg, drawing a pleasurable roar of pain. He leaned over and casually beheaded the sobbing demon. 

          "Come on, Puddles. We're off to see the wizard."


	62. Sleight of Hand I: Lies and Damn Lies

          The owl dropped the letter on Lucius Malfoy's desk earlier than he expected. When he opened it and scanned the unsigned contents, he let out an evil laugh.

_My Lord,_

_          All proceeds as you ordered. During the trip last weekend, we did as you asked. Enclosed you will find a map detailing the location of the goods. Your packages can be picked up at anytime._

          Malfoy pulled out a quill and responded.

_Gentlemen,_

_          Well done. Our master will be most pleased. If you care to watch, the packages will be picked up from you on Friday. I envy your ability to see it happen._

          Their reward was well-deserved. They had done fine work and would make superb Initiates. His master would indeed be pleased, and he would deal with those muggle-loving Weasleys once and for all.

          Draco watched as Julius MacNair and Christopher Flint, two Slytherin seventh-years, huddled over their letter in front of the fire. He had accidentally seen them open it and recognized his father's handwriting, and now he was curious. They didn't notice him eavesdropping from a well-hidden spot, and the three of them were alone in the common room.

          "You're brother's a genius for letting us in on this," MacNair told Flint. Malfoy knew Marcus Flint had taken service with Voldemort recently.

          "I can't wait. Where d'you reckon we should watch from?"

          "I want to see it all. We should stay out at the Zonko's stash after they take the idiot Weasley twins into custody. That way we can see them find all of it, and make sure no one else stumbles into what we took."

          "When should we go?"

          "If they're takin' the twins Friday, we should plant the map Thursday afternoon. Right after they get taken, we can head down." Flint nodded his agreement. They tossed the letter in the fire and left Draco alone.

          So his father had finally moved to take out the Weasleys. Draco smiled, imagining the look on Lucius' face on Friday. This would be priceless.

          Fire crackled in Grey's hearth. He and Willow rested on a pile of cushions on the floor; he devoured a new mystery novel while Willow graded a stack of Giles' homework assignments.

          "They have some smart kids here," Willow commented, tapping the red pen on her front teeth.

          "That surprises you?"

          "No, not really. Just commenting randomly. I'm big with the randomness." 

He smiled.

          "Have I mentioned how cute you are?"

          "Perhaps," she said, green eyes twinkling over a smile of her own. She had a mental image of leaving the stack of homework behind for some extra-curricular fun on the floor. A soft knock on the door interrupted the transition from thought to action.

          "Come in," Grey called. He had finally gotten Sir Cadogan to agree to open the door when he called out from inside. Giles stepped through the entry, cell phone in hand.

          "Willow, Buffy would like to speak with you. It's rather urgent." He handed her the phone. "Evening, Grey."

          "Giles," the auror said pleasantly. He returned to his novel, letting one ear linger on Willow's conversation. The Watcher's face had a gray cast and he wore a serious expression.

          "Hey, Buffy! How's the Hellmouth?" Pause. "Uh huh. Giles mentioned it." Pause. "Ew. That's …" Pause. "Oh, wow. Yeah, I know, Sunnydale PD, not the best …" Pause. "Guess we don't have much choice. We'll come first thing in the morning." Pause. "Me and Grey." Pause. "Spike's not here. He and Harry's godfather are hunting down this artifact thingy we need for that spell Jess told you about." Pause. "Yeah, you totally helped. Anyway, look, we need to get packed and stuff. Clear the fireplace, okay?" Pause. "Yeah, I'll see you soon. Bye, Buffy."

          "What's up?" Grey asked as Willow handed the phone back to Giles.

          "Buffy and Xander have been tracking this big time serial killer in Sunnydale. Six deaths since they got back." She blanched, thinking of Buffy's description of the bodies.

          "Demon or human?"

          "They think human, but they don't know. The bodies are all teenage girls."

          "I take it you will be going to help them?" Giles said. Willow nodded. "Good. It is a sad state of affairs when private citizens are best equipped to perform a municipal function such as police work."

          "That was, um, very elderly British man of you, Giles." 

          "Thank you, Willow." A dubious look accompanied his sarcasm.

          "Why do they need us?" Grey asked. Leaving Hogwarts with Spike and Sirius both gone made him nervous.

          "To do the Batman thing, you with the smashing of the heads and me with the deciphering of the clues. Dawnie doesn't quite have the science skills down pat yet. It shouldn't be for long." She noticed the tension in his shoulders and neck. "Hogwarts will be okay."

          "The Sunnydale cops can't do the Lincoln Rhyme stuff?" Now I'm starting to talk like her, Grey thought with a mental head shake.

          "Nope. Their forensics team sucks," she said definitively. "People are dying, Grey. I have to go. You can stay if you want."

          He involuntary shivered at the memory of the Sunnydale vibe. Slayer or no, Willow would not be going there alone.

          "I'll go. I used to be a detective, remember? It'll be nice to flex those muscles again."

          Draco caught up with him after Dark Arts class.

          "Potter."

          "Malfoy." Ron and Hermione appeared next to him.

          "I need to talk to you. Alone."

          "Not likely, you stupid sod," Ron said. 

Malfoy glared at him. 

"Weasley, if you know what's good for you and your family, you'll let me speak with Potter." Ron's face darkened with rage. "That's not an insult, despite what you might think. I'm serious." His tone had none of the condescension or sneering Malfoy normally employed.

          "What you say to one of us, you can say to all three, Malfoy," Harry said, thinking that Draco actually sounded sincere.

          "Fine. Let's go someplace less public." 

          A meandering stroll through campus eventually led them to the hill overlooking the Quidditch field. No one was anywhere near them, much to Malfoy's relief.

          They stood together in silence, four black-robed figures starkly highlighted against the background of white snow. The single green and white scarf stood out from the red and gold almost as much.

          "Did you guys notice we spend a lot of time on this hill?" Hermione asked. The other two nodded, not sure why it mattered. "It's just odd, that's all."

          "You know of any other spots on campus where we can be sure no one can hear us?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head.

          "So, Malfoy, what do you want?" Harry steered the discussion back on course.

          "The Death Eaters are planning something big. Your brothers," he said to Ron, "are going to be arrested on Friday for stealing from Zonko's."

          "What? They didn't … they wouldn't …" 

Hermione cut him off.

          "Of course not, Ron. They're being framed, right?" She scowled at Malfoy.

          "Yes," the Slytherin boy said. "There's more, though. I think they're going after your father somehow. I don't know the details."

          "And why are you telling us? More importantly, why should we believe you?"

          Malfoy grinned evilly.

          "My father is fronting for Voldemort. It's a very Malfoy plan. That's how I know he'll be using it to get rid of Weasley's father. Normally, I'd be excited, but Voldemort will make the bastard pay for fucking this up, and that's worth more to me than a bunch of Weasleys." Ron fumed, but Hermione put a restraining hand on his chest. "MacNair and Flint are his lackeys here. They have a stash of stolen stuff hidden somewhere, probably with some trumped up evidence."

          "It makes sense," Hermione said, thinking it over. "It's no secret Fred and George want to start a joke shop, and everyone assumes they have no startup funds." She looked pointedly at Harry, who nodded. "They'll probably gin up some fake sheet that mentions Mr. Weasley stealing Ministry money and get all three together."

          "That sounds like my father," Malfoy agreed. "I know he wants your father out of the Ministry. Hates him something fierce." 

Ron nodded, his temper cooling. "I still don't see why you're telling us this, Malfoy," he said.

          "I don't like you three, and I don't like Weasleys. But I like my father and Voldemort less, so if I can get in the way, I will."

          "What happened to 'you chose the wrong side, Potter'?" Harry asked. 

Draco's eyes grew fierce and bitter. "I would think you'd understand best. They'd killed your parents, yes? And you want to make them pay, yes? Well, they killed my friends, and so do I." He stopped, letting his words sink in. "Does it make sense to you now?"

          "Yes," Harry said quietly, feeling more than hearing the pain radiating from Draco. Harry knew he had become a Slytherin outcast after what they had done in the infirmary, which Harry didn't mind. But he also knew that Crabbe and Goyle had been Malfoy's only remaining friends; in that context, it made quite a bit of sense.

          "If you three don't keep this secret, I'm a dead man," Malfoy said softly, looking away from them. For the first time ever, the others heard fear in his voice. They glanced at one another, realizing the trust implicit in Malfoy's actions. 

          Ron could see Malfoy's pain as well as Harry could. As much as he hated him, Malfoy was doing him a good turn and acting damned nobly. Ron surprised everyone by speaking first.

          "I get it, Malfoy." He paused, thinking of where to go next. "We won't say anythin', and … thanks."

          Forcing himself to do it, Ron extended his hand.

          Malfoy viewed the limb with a hint of distaste. After a half-second, he shook it anyway, and an alliance was born.


	63. Sleight of Hand II: PreGaming

          "Hello, young sirs. Milady. How can I be of service?"

          "Is Grey here, Sir Cadogan?" Hermione asked. "We really need to speak with him."

          "I'm sorry, he and the Lady Willow left this morning for her homeland."

          "D'you know when they'll be back?" Ron asked.

          "I'm sorry, I do not, good sir." The desire to avoid another banishment had finally curbed Cadogan's tongue.

          "Thanks, anyway," Harry said as they walked away. "So what now?"

          "Dumbledore or Giles?" Hermione suggested. 

Harry shook his head.

          "No. If a professor shows up, they'll know word got out somehow. We can't … I don't believe I'm saying this … we can't do anything that might jeopardize Malfoy."

          "What's the plan, then?"

          No one had an answer. Malfoy had recounted the conversation between MacNair and Flint verbatim. As they walked back to the common room, they ran through his words in their own heads. Once they were safely ensconced in their own empty dormitory, Hermione decided she knew what to do.

          "I have an idea," she announced. The boys looked on eagerly. "Obviously, we need to grab that map after it's hidden on Thursday and see where the stolen goods are located."

          "Do we tell Fred and George?" Ron asked. 

Hermione shook her head.

          "No. I think we need to let them get arrested, and it has to look real."

          "What?"

          "Listen to me," she said. Using her schoolteacher voice, she explained her strategy. At the conclusion, they looked at her dubiously.

          "I don't know, 'Mione," Ron said. "What if we can't beat them? They're seventh-years, and dark wizards to boot. I don't mind getting hurt, but I want to win if we do."

          "We can get Ginny and Neville to help us," Harry said. "She deserves to, because they're her brothers as well. Neville will be happy to, because of the thing with Malfoy."

          "We shouldn't tell him about Malfoy," Hermione said.

          "Then how do we know about it?" Ron asked. "It'd be flamin' obvious we're lying."

          "We can say one of us overheard it in the hall." Helped along by her 'don't-be-so-stupid' look, comprehension dawned on his face and he nodded.

          "No," Harry countered.

          "No?" They asked simultaneously.

          "No. He deserves to know the truth. He cares more about helping Ron than how we found about it, don't you think?"

          Reluctantly, they both agreed to tell Neville the truth, then sat down to hash out the details.

          The Weasley twins entered their Thursday Potions lesson with less than a minute to spare. Snape, disappointed that he couldn't penalize Gryffindor for tardiness, settled for scowling fiercely as the redheads took their seats.

          "Nice of you to join us today," he muttered. Fred smirked in response, but said nothing. He had been in Snape's class too long to make a stupid mistake like that.

          "Professor," MacNair said ten minutes into class, "might I be excused for a moment? I need to make a quick run to the loo." Snape nodded and gestured to the door.

          MacNair made it to the Gryffindor dormitory in record time, barely dodging the wandering duo of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Pulling out his hand-drawn map and Flint's note, he proffered the stolen password and snuck in. In less than thirty seconds, he slipped the map under George's mattress and darted back out into the hall.

          "Too bloody simple," he whispered on the walk back to Snape's class.

          Harry and Ron laid the new map next to the Marauder's Map on Ron's bed. They quickly traced the three simplest routes to the Zonko's stash.

          "They did a good job of hidin' it," Ron commented. "Without one of these maps, no one would find it for years. Who knew the kitchens had so many extra storage rooms?"

          "My father probably did," Harry said, "and your brothers. No one else would." He remembered who had picked the spot and amended his thought. "At least, no one else that would be suspected."

          "We can get there without them seeing us, right?"

          "I think so," Harry said. With his wand, he traced out a route on the Marauder's Map. "This way should take us there indirectly. Half these passages are secret; even we've never been in them. I'm betting that they haven't, either." He pointed out another route. "This is the easiest way to get there, other than the one on the hand-drawn map. That's the one I'd take, if I were them and wanted to watch." Ron nodded his agreement.

          "I still don't see why we have to let my brothers get arrested."

          "We need MacNair and Flint to go down to the storeroom. They won't leave until they see that. Don't worry about it. Hermione will intercept the constable and McGonagall and sort them out before anything bad happens." He pocketed the map. "We just need to hold those two off. A truth serum will do the rest."

          "You wished to see me, Minister?" Dumbledore asked formally on Friday morning. "Please be seated."

          Fudge carefully rested his bulk on one of Dumbledore's office chairs. He removed his hat and placed it in his lap.

          Since their falling out after the Tri-Wizard tournament, Fudge and Dumbledore had barely spoken and had not met in person. Despite the obvious signs, including numerous Death Eater attacks and the Dark Mark often on prominent display, Fudge retained his unshakeable belief that Voldemort had not returned.

          "Indeed, Albus. I thought we might discuss this rumor that You Know Who is behind the recent series of attacks. We can't have people believing such nonsense, you know, and it appears from the Ministry's vantage point that you are doing nothing to quell it."

          Hearing the term 'rumor' escape Fudge's mouth, the headmaster restrained a cringe.

          "Cornelius, we both know that this is no rumor. Yet you refuse to accept the plain truth. Even the _Daily Prophet_…"

          "Rumor mongers!" Fudge insisted, raising his voice. "Anyone can send the Mark into the sky. We lack proof. I find it far more likely that this renegade auror, O'Brien, is behind this."

          "She is … involved, I agree," Dumbledore said patiently. "But we have strong evidence that she is in fact Voldemort's field commander." He made no specific mention of Snape's spying on the Death Eater ranks.

          "Piffle," Fudge said with a wave of his hand. "She is our villain here, Albus. You Know Who is only a memory."

          "Why are you here, Cornelius, if that is the case? My mistaken beliefs are surely not a matter for the Minister of Magic himself."

          "The Ministry, and myself in particular, is quite concerned about some of your staff. The Grey boy was an understandable choice …" Fudge paused, and a hint of disgust crept into his voice, "even if he is a squib. But now … his association with her is making many people nervous. They wonder if perhaps he helped her enter on Halloween."

          "Tell me, how many votes do those nervous voices control?"

          "No need to be petty, Albus."

          "And there is certainly no need for this meeting, Cornelius." His quiet tone rang with authority. "I trust Grey implicitly. It would have been hard for him to be a useful ally while she was busy torturing him."

          "I wonder if you would know, seeing as how she rendered you unconscious." Spitefully, Fudge went on. "He's not the only one. It has recently come to my attention that your Dark Arts teacher is a former … Watcher."

          "He is," Dumbledore said carefully. He had discreetly hidden Giles' resume from the Ministry, knowing full well that a thousand years of bad blood would inevitably foul a necessary arrangement. "However, he resigned their employ to take the job here."

          "I should think I do not have to remind you of the danger those buffoons pose to the Wizarding world."

          "You and I disagree on that. Particularly after working closely with Rupert, I am more convinced than ever that the rift between the Ministry and the Watchers needs healing."

          "Muggles dabbling in magic and myth. Absolutely absurd!"

          Dumbledore sighed. "The world is not so simply divided between wizards and muggles, Cornelius, a fact that I have been unsuccessfully trying to explain to you for twenty years."

          "They intrude on domains they have no business in! Domains best left to the supervision of qualified wizards."

          "Not all who practice magic are a part of the wizarding world," Dumbledore said, "as not all of the wizarding world practices magic. In the end, their goals are the same as ours, and I very much believe we will require their assistance against the renewed threat of Voldemort."

          "No matter what your radical beliefs, it cannot continue. The Ministry requires that you accept his resignation at once," Fudge said pompously.

"Rupert has been battling evil for much of his life," Dumbledore responded, his demeanor outwardly unruffled. Once again, though, Fudge had managed to get under his skin with his bureaucratic intransigence. "He is more accomplished than many of our own aurors and he greatly respects our way of life. His assistance has been invaluable this year. Beyond that, he is as fine a man and teacher as any I have known, and as long as I am here he will be welcome."

"You know I have supported you for a good long while, Albus. In spite of, I might add, fierce resistance to your eccentricities. Should you persist in challenging Ministry policy at every turn, however, I fear I may be left with little room to maneuver."

"What exactly are you saying, Minister?"

"I am saying that your continued willingness to defy our direction, either in its letter or spirit, could result in some rather drastic consequences."

Dumbledore was about to respond when the door to his office opened and Professor McGonagall led in a weathered, middle-aged man.

"Minerva?"

"Headmaster, this is Constable Worly of Hogsmeade. He needs a moment of your time regarding two of our students."


	64. Sleight of Hand III: Guardian Angels

[A/N: Tech Difficulties appear to be fixed for the moment, and I got a bit ahead, hence the flurry of posts. Sorry again for the issues, but thanks to all of you who're waiting patiently. And now, on with the show … 40]

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          Hermione watched from the far end of the hall as McGonagall approached the classroom with Dumbledore and a man she didn't recognize. That she expected. The shock came when she noticed Cornelius Fudge himself walking with the group.

          "He's not supposed to be here, is he?" Neville whispered.

          "No," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "It doesn't matter. As soon as we see MacNair and Flint leave, we'll intercept them."

          Neville gulped and silently nodded.

          The adults waited for class to end before grabbing Fred and George on their way out. The fifth-years saw MacNair and Flint linger at the edge of the hall, listening to the conversation. Otherwise, the hall was completely empty.

          "Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said to George, her hand on his arm. "It seems that you and your brother are in a good deal of trouble."

          "For what?" Fred asked. He and George adopted their long-practiced innocent expressions.

          "These are very serious allegations," Fudge said to them.

          "I know for a fact that we've never done anything worthy of the Minister of Magic himself," George commented, "sir."

          "It seems you boys have taken a liking to a number of items at Zonko's," the constable broke in. "Isn't that correct?"

          The twins traded a confused look.

          "Well … yes," Fred answered.

          "But no more than we have other years," George continued. "I mean, they have great stuff there."

          "Indeed," Worly said. By nature he was a crusty man; even his elf-like appearance had grown hard and craggy under the toll of years of police work. He had seen young fools like the Weasleys come and go, and their feigned innocence did not impress him.

          "Tell me gentlemen, are some of the items you fancy a bit beyond your financial means?"

          The Weasleys needed no more of a hint than that.

          "If you're sayin' we stole something, the answer is absolutely not," Fred said, his stomach beginning to register his anxiety.

          "We like to have fun," his brother added, "but we shop there way too much to be stealin' from them."

          Worly ignored their denials and pressed on. "You're interested in opening your own competing store, isn't that also correct? And you lack the capital to both purchase a shop and the inventory to fill it? Even with the generous donation made by …" he flipped through his notepad, checking his research, "oh yes, of course, by Harry Potter."

          The twins looked at each other, eyes wide. Almost no one knew about Harry's gift to them the year before. Down the hall, Hermione tensed at the constable's obviously thorough research.

          "We didn't steal anythin'," George insisted. "Who told you we did?"

          "The Zonko's people," Worly said indifferently, hoping to provoke a reaction. "They were quite sure it was you two. Apparently, they know you very well, as they were utterly shocked that you would lift any inventory, let alone so much."

          "So much … how much did we supposedly take?" Fred asked, concerned.

          "I'll ask the questions if you don't mind, young man." Worly turned to McGonagall. "We need to find the stolen items, just to verify their existence. Where might they have hidden them?"

          "I'm sure I have no idea," the Transfiguration professor responded. The thought of Fred and George stealing horrified her. She never would have believed that they would do anything more damaging than would be humorous. Unfortunately, the constable's evidence seemed quite conclusive. "These two know this building better than anyone else. Perhaps we should check their dormitories first, then move on from there."

          "This will go much easier on you boys if you simply admit to it and show us where the merchandise resides," Fudge said reasonably. "I fear your father will be most displeased."

          "We didn't do it, Minister!"

          "We're being framed!"

          "Come now, that's unlikely, don't you think?" Fudge responded.

          "I for one would like to see the proof of the theft," Dumbledore said quietly. "Fred and George enjoy their fun, but they have never intentionally harmed anyone."

          "Take me to the dormitories, please," Worly said, "and we can resolve this quickly."

          Hermione saw a flash of black as MacNair and Flint departed. With a silent prayer for her friends, she dragged Neville into the hall.

          "Hold on a moment!"

          "Miss Granger, this is certainly none of your business," McGonagall said. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

          "Yes, I should, but I'm not because I had to be here," she answered."If I could speak with you and Professor Dumbledore privately for two minutes, I can prove to you that this is a hoax."

          "Young lady, anything you have to say can certainly be said to the group," Fudge intoned.

          Hermione looked at Dumbledore with pleading eyes. The headmaster nodded.

          "Ms. Granger, Mr. Longbottom and I will confer for a moment, Minister," he said. 

Fudge's eyes flashed angrily.

"Albus, perhaps you did not understand the discussion we had earlier. I am the Minister of Magic; these two thieves are the children of one of my employees. Whatever this silly girl is making up to help them can be said in front of all of us."

"She's not making it up!" Neville shouted. Everyone turned to look at him. "Well, she's not," he added softly.

"It's a setup. We overheard two Slytherins, MacNair and Flint, talking about framing the Weasleys…"

"Now see here, young lady," Fudge interrupted, "Mr. MacNair is a valued Ministry employee. I highly doubt that his son would be involved in such a thing."

"What about our dad?" Fred asked. "He's a Ministry employee."

"Erm … well, yes. But there is a great deal of evidence against you, whereas with MacNair …"

"We can prove it," Hermione said. "They left a map to the stolen items under George's bed yesterday. We checked on Wednesday and again last night, and it was only there the second night."

"They could have had it on them when you searched on Wednesday," Worly offered. This affair had finally caught his interest; the girl seemed to passionately believe in her argument, and despite his world-weary churlishness, he loved a good riddle.

"Yes, I suppose so. Except that I know where MacNair and Flint are right now, which is at this hiding spot, and we'll have plenty of witnesses to it," Hermione said, "including Harry Potter. How would they know where it is, if they aren't involved?"

Worly raised an eyebrow. "How, indeed? Where would that be, exactly?"

MacNair and Flint had left little space in the storage room. Besides a roughly square area in front of the door and a small niche among the boxes, the room had been filled with stolen goods. Ron, Harry and Ginny availed themselves of the concealment eagerly. The amount of pilfered materiel awed them; MacNair and Flint had managed to rip off an entire month's shipment of stock from the joke shop.

"When they get here, I'm going to …" Ron's voice faded, his anger too great for words but his whole body stretched taut with tension.

Beside him, Ginny nodded in equal frustration, her face flushed crimson.

"We need to be careful," Harry warned. "I've been trying to tell you all day. They're more skilled than we are."

"I don't care," Ginny snarled. "Nobody messes with my family like this. Stupid Malfoys."

Harry would have commented on Draco's assistance, but MacNair and Flint cut him off by walking in.

"We need to wait," he whispered, "just until … Ron! Ginny!"

The two Weasleys, oblivious to Harry's pleading, leapt from their hiding place to confront the Slytherins.

Surprised, MacNair and Flint retreated a step. Ron threw a leg-locker curse, hoping to prevent a drawn out fight. Flint had been trained to duel by his brother; he blocked the curse easily. 

"Look at this," MacNair said disdainfully, drawing his wand. He had a thick shock of shoulder-length black hair and a pale, oily complexion. With his sneer firmly in place, he reminded Harry of Professor Snape. "The kiddies want to play with the grown-ups."

"Fug you, you Death Eater bastard!" Ron screamed.

Before he could loose another curse, the burly Flint tackled him to the floor, knocking the wand from Ron's hand and bouncing his head off the ground with a painful thud. Harry burst out from behind the crates, intent on freeing his friend. MacNair intercepted him with a Rumble curse and Harry fell to the floor, his calves and feet numb and his upper body shaking madly.

"CUMULO!" Ginny cast, mimicking the Death Eater she and Harry had faced before. She had been practicing the spell in private, and it worked nearly as well for her as it had for the dark wizard. The resounding clap of thunder rocked all five of them; wind and rain shot from her wand, driving MacNair backwards into a pile of boxes. Stacks of Refill-a-cups – cups that magically emptied themselves each time you filled them – spilled out from the shattered cases.

Flint punched Ron's face twice, drawing blood from the dazed younger boy's nose, then climbed off to confront his sister.

"PEDEM CONFERRE," he intoned. A silver hand shot from his wand, balling into a clenched fist as it zipped straight for Ginny's head. She dove out of the way, escaping the impact by a hair. She scrabbled to her left, hoping to insert herself between her two opponents, but tripped over Harry's convulsing form in the process. 

Skin ripped painfully from her palms and forearms as she splayed out on the rocky floor. MacNair, who had extricated himself from the boxes, joined Flint in a hearty laugh.

Between them and Ginny and Harry, Ron rose painfully to his knees and felt around unsuccessfully for his lost wand.

"Quite the game, eh, Flint?" MacNair said.

"Definitely, Julius. If I had known we'd be having this much fun, I might have invited some spectators."

"So, d'you reckon we should make them feel welcome? Perhaps a spot o' pain to teach them to stay out of Slytherin business?"

The other boy nodded, his menacing grin reflecting the joy in his eyes.

"_Crucias_," they said together, just as Marcus Flint had taught them. It was a modified version of the outlawed curse, nearly as painful but lasting half as long, and not strictly forbidden by the Ministry. 

The spells buzzed as they flew, the first drawing an intense scream from Ron and the second headed directly for Harry.

The Boy Who Lived, knowing what was coming, tried to roll away. He couldn't make his body respond, though, and instead braced for the coming pain. Two booted feet shoved him roughly to the side before it arrived.

"No!" Ginny kicked out, knocking Harry from the line of fire. The curse grazed her right leg, sending a brief explosion shooting through her body. The bulk of it whizzed by and tore a gouge in the stone floor. 

Ignoring the pain, she raised her wand and shouted, "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

The curse took Flint by surprise; he froze in place before he could block it. MacNair's face contorted with rage as his friend stopped moving.

"You little bitch!" 

He flicked his wand, lifting her into the air and tossing her into her still-writhing brother. Her head collided with his bony shoulder, jarring them both. Another flick of the wand slammed her into the floor and she collapsed against Ron in a heap.

Across the room, Harry finally regained control of his limbs. Ginny and Ron, he saw, both had blood on their faces and neither one seemed to be effectively resisting. 

Seeing the wounded girl crumpled next to his friend snapped something in Harry.

"Ginny…" he said, his voice wavering. "_Petrificus Totalus_." The after-effects of the Rumbles muffled Harry's effort to protect the girl. MacNair blocked the weakened curse with a deft flourish.

"Please, Potter. You're in no state to be tossing curses. That was pathetic." The Slytherin had the upper hand again, and he wanted to enjoy it. He couldn't remember the countercurse that would free Flint, but he could deal with that after disposing of these fools. "This turned out much better than I thought. Instead of three Weasleys, I can get rid of five, and Harry Potter besides. D'you think they send thieves to Azkaban, Potter?"

The spell on Ron finally wore off, leaving him flat on his back, rasping for breath. When the pain receded, he opened his eyes and saw MacNair facing a kneeling Harry. Ginny moaned quietly next to him, her head slumped to his chest and a cut bleeding furiously on her forehead. Ron's arm still twitched from the curse, but he carefully forced it to reach over and take Ginny's wand.

"So tell me, Potter, what sort of bug do you wish me to turn you into? A beetle, perhaps? Maybe a fruitfly. Uh-uh," he said as Harry brought his wand up. Neither one noticed Ron's muttering or the tiny flames sprouting near MacNair's feet. "EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry's wand flipped up and into MacNair's hand. "That's better. Now … Hey! What the …" Pain coursed through his legs as his burning robe reached bare skin. He desperately hopped up and down to put out the conflagration.

"That's for hurtin' my sister!" Ron roared. "EXPELLIARMUS! That's for Harry!" He shouted as the two wands slipped from the Slytherin's grasp. "This one's for bein' a bloody nancy boy and messin' with my family! ARIETO!"

The yellow gob of light took MacNair in the chest, propelling him into several airborne flips before the wall interceded and stopped his flight. Unconscious, he fell to the floor in a pile.

"Uhhh…" Ginny moaned, pushing herself off of the floor and into a sitting position. Harry came to his feet gingerly and made his way over to her. "Are you okay?" She asked him, concern in her eyes.

"Hunky-dory," Ron said sarcastically. His whole body ached.

"I'm alright. How are you?" Harry asked. Neither he nor Ginny seemed to be paying Ron any attention, even though he had just won the fight.

Ginny shook her head, trying to clear the fuzziness from her vision.

"Okay," she said uncertainly. She focused on Harry. "I thought … that curse …it hurt so much."

"Missed me totally, thanks to you." Harry smiled appreciatively, bringing his face close to hers. With his right hand, he tenderly inspected the cut on her forehead. Ron watched in fascination, feeling a strange vibe between them that had never existed before. "You were great, Ginny. You saved our lives."

"We're even then," she said softly. 

She never knew whether it was the after-effects of the beating or the fading adrenaline rush from the victory that made her do it, but it felt right and she was too discombobulated to stop herself.

Faltering only slightly, she leaned forward and kissed Harry full on the mouth.

Stunned by the tingling the kiss produced in him, he didn't respond. 

After a second, she began to pull away; he sensed it, and, not wanting to abandon the soft feel of her lips on his, he slipped his arm around her and emphatically pulled her in for more.

Five feet away, Ron gaped at the display. He was about to comment, to break them up, to do something … when Hermione walked in.

"You see, Minister," she said haughtily, pointing to the prone forms of the Slytherins, "I wasn't making it up, was I?" She was about to show him a triumphant smirk when she saw Harry and Ginny together and froze. 

A split-second later, Ron leapt off the floor.


	65. Questing IV: Bargain Prices

          "Angelus and William the Bloody, together again. Isn't that priceless?" The Don glared at Sirius from his seat in the corner booth. "And your little dog, too. I'm not fooled, Toto. Show yourself."

          "Tol' you it wouldn't work," Spike muttered as Sirius shifted into human form.

          "I don't believe I've had the pleasure. You are?"

          "Sirius Black." A scowl creased his worn features.

          The Don offered a half-smile. "Well, well. Enjoying your newfound freedom?" The question met stony silence. "I'm just being polite, young man. No need for that attitude."

          "You know why we're here," Angel said impatiently. "Let's get to it."

          "You used to be more patient, Angelus. A soul does terrible things to one, doesn't it?"

          Spike sucked his cigarette deeply, exhaling through his nose as he once again scanned the massive array of guards. The three of them had closed down Caritas, waiting for the Don to appear. Lorne had assured them that he would, and the elderly vampire arrived just after last call with his princely entourage. It was his custom, Lorne had informed Angel, to hold court after hours (the rights for which he apparently paid a hefty sum).

          The Don had changed little from when Spike and Angelus first encountered him in 1894. He dressed better now, to fit the times, and apparently had decided West Coast living would be a nice change from New York. Fifty years of running that kind of demon underground would require a break, Spike mused, though he's still the neatest bastard I ever saw. The yellow tie looked like a mustard stain on the impeccable blue suit, at least to Spike's eye, but the younger vampire had to admit that the demon looked like a respectable business man. Excepting the horns, of course.

          "We're not here to talk about my soul. We're here to talk about my artifacts."

          "No, I don't suppose we are here to talk about _your_ soul, are we?" He glanced disconcertingly at Spike, though no one other than the two of them noticed the inflection in his voice. 

          The hairs on the back of Spike's neck stood up. He hadn't discussed those thoughts with anyone. 

          "There's someone I'd like you to meet. Cass, honey, could you come up here, please?"

          From among the tables packed with his minions, friends, and guards, a raven-haired vampiress rose. Spike stared, as did Angel and Sirius, at the woman, easily six and a half feet tall and clad entirely in red leather. Her amber eyes had a distant cast, as if she wasn't really seeing anything. She glided adroitly between the tables and kneeled at the Don's right hand.

          "This is Cass. Short for Cassandra. It's not her real name, of course; I do love the classics, though, and she doesn't much mind. She's my … adviser." Spike understood that to mean seer, and wondered what the soul remark really meant with one of those around. Knowing the ponce in the suit, he'd probably find out soon enough. "I knew you'd be here today. Just as I knew Vance would go and get himself killed by trying to go into business alone. So cliché. It's sad, really, that no one has any imagination these days."

          "You sayin' he didn't steal that stuff for you, mate?"

          "No, William, he most certainly did not. I am a businessman, as you know, not an imbecile. One does not rob from a do-gooder with as much talent as Angelus without an excellent reason, which I did not have. I am quite aware of the difficulties a vendetta with your brooding sire would mean for my operations here."

          "Do you have the artifacts?" Angel asked, his temper somewhat mollified.

          "Well, there's an interesting question," the vampire answered sarcastically. "Of course I have some of them. I purchased them for fair market value from young Vance."

          "Some?" Sirius said.

          "Yes, Mr. Black. Some. He sold some to other vendors, and some I believe he still possessed. Put yourself at ease. I will return most of them in exchange for the service you did me in removing him."

          "Let me guess," Spike said, breaking the sentence with another puff. "You're going to hold on to the one you think we want most, and then make us bloody well pay for it."

          The Don chuckled.

          "You never were slow, William. I will certainly attest to that. Mark. Ray." The Don snapped his fingers and two vampires handed a chest to Angel, who opened it and pawed through its contents. He glanced at Spike and shook his head.

          "I believe you are seeking the Eye of the Golem, is that correct?" He had the decency not to smirk. 

          Angel nodded, wondering if the three of them could fight an entire room full of vampires, demons, and sorcerors without dying or destroying his friend's club.

          "I am prepared to offer it to you, for a small price."

          "Of course," Angel said. "What price would that be?"

          "What price did I charge for your lives the last time?"

          Comprehension dawned on Angel and Spike's faces. They traded a glance past a confused Sirius.

          "That's right, boys. I think I'd like to be entertained. Don't worry, though. Not too much blood and bile. It's a more civilized era, after all. No, just a little reading, then maybe a bedtime story or two.

          "Not bloody likely," Spike shouted, knowing full well what the innuendo meant. "If you think …"

          "I think you had best do what I require, William. Look around." The volume remained the same, but a note of menace crept into the vampire's voice. The army of followers had risen to its collective feet, and Spike remembered that there was a reason that the Don had made it past his 400th birthday. "Believe me," he said, his eyes boring into Spike's, "in the long run you'll be deeper into the black if you don't get yourself dusted tonight."  The Don glanced at the woman in leather. 

          "Bugger all," Spike whispered, wondering what the damn bitch had seen. "What do you want me to do?"

          "Come here." Spike walked over. "Give her your hand."

          Tentatively, the blonde vampire extended his hand. Angel and Sirius, watching silently, understood now that the woman had second sight. Angel thought about the Don, who wouldn't give away that bit of information without a good reason. Nor was he petty or vindictive, which might have landed the three of them in a great deal of trouble; he was, in fact, what he claimed to be. A businessman. That meant he had an interest in Spike's reading.

          The seer ran her hands over Spike's palm, her cool touch sensual and feather-light. She peered down through him, not really seeing the vampire in front of her, then suddenly gasped and flung his hand away.

          Cass retreated from them, every eye in the full club watching her graceful stride as she ascended to the DJ booth. Effortlessly, she reached in and plucked a record from the shelf. Five seconds of Aerosmith blared through the sound system.

          "_The Prince of Lust has met his match … The witch has brewed her baddest batch … His sword is sharp, and hard as stone …"_

           As abruptly as it began, the music died. All three of them looked at the Don.

          "Peculiar gift, isn't it? She has the sight but can't speak, so she uses the words of others to convey her thoughts. We have a devil of a time deciphering it sometimes, especially when she opens up a book of poetry and starts pointing."

          "What does it mean, other than bein' a terrible waste of good instruments?" Spike asked.

          "No idea," he said, smiling conspiratorially. "It'll be dead on, though. Take that to heart."

          "Why did you have her read him?" Angel asked.

          "Oh, because she told me something very interesting about our friend earlier, and I wanted to know more. I'm itching to see his reaction. I'll tell you, William, if you wish. I doubt you would want Angelus to hear it, though." His face shone with glee. "And I do find this prophecy business entertaining." He waggled a finger, calling Spike closer.

          Warily, the blonde vampire approached. The Don leaned down and whispered in his ear.

          "I know what you're thinking about doing. We were discussing you killing Vance and she put on _Soul Man_." The burning cigarette fell from Spike's open mouth and bounced on the step. He unconsciously stubbed it out before the floor could catch fire. "Ridiculous, no? But that's how it is when she gets a strong impression. And think on this, William, when you decide what to do: the Prince of Lust will no doubt be a Hellspawn of the major variety. Nothing without a soul can kill one of those." He leaned back and waved a stunned Spike away.

          "Spike…"

          "Shut up, Peaches. Not for your ears," he said softly.

          "If you decide to listen to what I've said, William, come see me again. I may be able to help you," the Don grinned, "for a price, of course. But before then, I think we should finish with this debt."

          "Show us the Eye first," Angel growled.

          "Very well. Mark?" One of the vampires held up a pendant on a chain.

          Angel nodded, recognizing it. "Okay. You have the Eye. What else do we have to do?"

          The Don motioned for his supporters to clear the area around Spike and Angel. "Mr. Black, I suggest you come stand here by me." In response to his glare, he added, "I assure you that neither they nor you will be harmed by me or any of mine."

          The wizard stood rooted in place.

          "Go, Sirius. His word is good," Angel ordered. Spike nodded as well, and Sirius walked away from them. Angel and Spike stood alone within an empty circle fifteen feet across.

          "Very good, gentlemen. Very good. Now, William, if you would be so kind as to explain your … nocturnal activities to Angelus?"

          "Not a bloody chance, mate. Not in this lifetime."

          "You son of a bitch," Angel exclaimed. "I knew it. I knew that chip wouldn't do anything to stop you." He growled and his game face emerged.

          "Oh, sod off, Poofulas. I'm not feedin' anymore."

          "Bullshit."

          "No, he's being quite honest," the Don said, halting Angel's rapid advance on Spike. "Frankly, he's far too busy with the Slayer to be doing anything that might _displease her."_

          Spike glared, silently appraising his options. He knew where this was heading. Question was, could he stop Angel from staking him without killing the bastard? Buffy would never forgive him that, self-defense or not.

          "What?"

          "William, you will tell Angelus the truth, or you will never gain possession of the Eye of the Golem. I assure you that this is my one and only price."

          "Busy with the Slayer?" Angel tried mightily to understand, and then all of a sudden, he did. Very, very clearly. "Oh no … not … you two?"

          Spike hesitated, and the secret was out.

          An instant later, he lay flat on his back, the lights of Caritas bobbing in and out of view as Angelus' fist intermittently filled his vision.

          "Son of a bitch … Pile of dust … Beat you until you bleed to death." Only snippets of the rant made it to Spike's ears as his head bounced off the floor time and again, his mind too foggy from the vicious beating to respond.

          Fortunately, his demon burned the fog away as it rose to the fore.

          Eyes yellow, fangs bared, Spike let loose an animal's bellow as his demon tore into Angelus. A second later, their positions were reversed, and Spike's fist pummeled Angel's face.

          "Amusing to watch them, isn't it, Mr. Black?"

          "Sort of," Sirius admitted. His mind raced, trying to figure out a way to end this before one of the vampires had to be swept out.

          "Don't worry," the Don said, a smile on his face. "I won't let them kill each other."

          "Good," Sirius said, turning to the vampire with his wand peeking out from his hand. "Then I won't have to turn you into a smoldering pile of ash."

          "Oh my. Aren't you the cheeky one? That could be hazardous to your own health, you know."

          Both of them flinched as Angel tossed Spike into an empty table, loudly shattering it into eight pieces. The blonde staggered to his feet, tasting the blood flowing from his bleeding visage. With a throaty roar, he charged his sire; wild punches flew between them as they lost themselves in their hatred of each other.

          "I'll take my chances," Sirius said, his eyes on the Don. "Why do this? Why not just ask for money?"

          "Please. Money. How gauche." His eyes turned yellow, focusing on Sirius with deadly intent. "I have my reasons, young man." The eyes flicked to Cass and back. "I have my reasons."

          They watched as the fight dragged on, the two vampires so evenly matched that neither could force the other to submit. Angel slammed a metal chair across Spike's back, only to be paid back in spades when Spike ripped a piece of metal railing free and whipped it across Angel's face. The elder vampire lay on the floor unmoving; when Spike closed for the kill, Angel nimbly swung around and rocked his jaw with the full force of both feet. Spike flew backwards, falling to the ground and rolling over several times. Before Angel could finish him off, the vampire leaped to his feet and moved back in, leading with both fists.

          After ten more minutes, the Don raised his hand. Six of his people grabbed ahold of Spike, and another six snatched Angel.

          "That will be quite enough, gentlemen. Consider your debt paid in full." One of the minions handed the Eye to Spike, who calmed down considerably. Angel still struggled to free himself and tear into his childe, despite the copious amounts of blood draining from his wounds.

          "Cut it the hell out, Angelus," Spike said. "She chose me. It's not my fault she likes a man with a bit o' monster."

          "I'm not seeing the man, Spike."

          "Hey, fuck you, you poncey bastard. Like you have any bleedin' right to defend her! You left her, Soulboy. I'd never do that."

          Angel's growl came from deep in his throat. "No, you'd just suck her dry the minute your chip came out."

          "She doesn't think so," he countered. "An' you know damn well I won't hurt her, you're just too jealous to admit it. I love the chit." He glared menacingly, his eyes seizing Angel's and holding them. "You can kiss my lily-white arse, though, if you think I'm gonna stand here and prove myself to you." He looked at the Eye. "Let's get outa here, Puddles. Too much hair gel's makin' my eyes water."

          Sirius walked away from the Don and towards the door, deciding that Angel would be safe; abandoning him now was preferable to an all-out war between him and Spike.

          As they were leaving, Spike let a backwards glance linger on the Don.


	66. Really

          "Hey Will?"

          "Yeah, sweetie?"

          "I know we were gone for a week, and lots might have happened, but when was the last time you saw that?" He pointed to the Gryffindor table. They had returned late Sunday night from Sunnydale, and barely made Monday morning breakfast.

          She followed his finger along the table, her eyes narrowing at his discovery. Ron sat at one end, shoveling food into his mouth in an obvious attempt to dine as swiftly as possible. Neville, Hermione, Harry and Ginny sat at the other end. Hermione and Neville were merrily chatting away, but Harry and Ginny seemed to be staring at their meals as if nothing interested them more than the array of uneaten food. Every few seconds, Harry would sneak a nervous glance at Ron. The redhead pretended not to notice.

          "Let's go ask Tara," Willow said, noticing the blonde witch sitting with Hagrid at the faculty table. She led Grey over to two empty seats next to them.

          "How're yeh? Safe an' soun', I hope," Hagrid greeted them.

          "We're fine, Hagrid," Willow answered. "A little tired, but unscathed."

          "Big nasties?"

          "Only of the human variety, Tara. I'll give you the details later, but … yech, not mealtime conversation. What's going on here, though? Is it me, or is there a major foofaraw with our favorite Gryffindors?"

          "Foofaraw?" Grey smirked.

          "Shut up, Grey. I talk how I want."

          "You certainly do."

          Tara laughed, but her expression quickly faded to concern. "A-actually, yeah. While you were away, there w-was some trouble." Seeing their alarm, she continued. "It's alright now. No lasting consequences." She explained what had happened with Fred and George, and how the Slytherins had been arrested and expelled.

          "So they tried to get Ron's father removed from the Ministry," Grey commented when she had finished. "That's a pretty bold move." He glanced at the unhappy Gryffindors across the room. "That was fast work on their part," he said with appreciation. "How'd the Slytherins convince the Zonko's people that Fred and George did it?"

          "P-polyjuice potion," Tara said. "Snape used a truth potion on them, and Dumbledore got the whole story. It was the only way to make Fudge believe it."

          Grey made a sound low in his throat at the mention of Fudge's name.

          "H-he's a little … narrow-minded," Tara added generously. Fudge had flat out refused to believe the boys had been working for Voldemort, claiming that they had been deceived by 'that vile O'Brien woman.'  Dumbledore, obviously exasperated by the Minister, had finally agreed with the fat little man, more, Tara believed, to get rid of him than anything else.

          "That story doesn't explain this …" With her chin, Willow gestured towards the Gryffindors.

          "H-hermione told me that Ginny kept Ron and Harry safe long enough to take down the Slytherins. I guess she was pretty amazing. At the end, she and Harry had a … a moment."

          Four eyebrows rose in unison.

          "Th-they kissed. I-in front of Ron. Hermione had to pull him off of Harry, and I guess they had a big fight, and Ron and Ginny had a big fight, and nobody's talking to anybody. Both Ron and Harry missed our research parties this weekend."

          "S'not good when these kids figh'," Hagrid offered, his tone sad. "I've seen it now an' then, but usually it's quickly a'righ' again. Hate seein' 'em unhappy, that's fer sure."

          "They had to pull Ron off Harry?" Willow said incredulously. "Why?"

          "Big Brother syndrome," Grey said with understanding. "What's the deal between Ginny and Harry?"

          "I don't know," Tara answered with a shrug. "According to Hermione, and we only had about t-two minutes when Ginny was in the bathroom, neither of them really know what to do now. About Ron or about each other."

          "Hey, 'Mione," Ron said, peeking his head into the girls dorm. Thankfully, his sister was not about. Even before she spoke, Ron could see that Hermione was steaming.

          "Ronald Weasley, I am not interested in speaking with you. Please go away."

          "I don't think so, hon." He stepped into the room, and she rolled off of her bed and moved further away.

          "Don't call me that. I'm quite cross right now, and you must leave."

          He plunked down on the bed next to hers. "Can we just talk? I … I haven't got anyone to talk to 'bout this."

          "I shouldn't, you know. I'm firmly with Ginny and Harry." He flashed his wide puppy-dog eyes, making her stomach flip-flop. She hated seeing him so unhappy. "Alright. You have exactly one minute to convince me that I should talk with you."

          "I knew you'd come 'round," he said with a small smile. "It's just … I know I shouldn't've done what I did, but she's my little sister. We both know Harry doesn't feel that way about her, an'," he paused, gathering his thoughts, "I don't want her to get hurt. I know he didn't mean to encourage her, but that's what he did. Seein' it, I just got so mad I forgot it was Harry."

          Before he even finished, Hermione was shaking her head.

          "You just don't understand it, do you? Must you always see the world the way you wish? Do you really think Harry would do that? Lead her on that way?"

          "What d'you mean?"

          "Harry feels the same way about Ginny that she does about him. He didn't know it until she kissed him, but I've seen it for months. So have Willow and Tara. So have you, if you'd only admit it. How many times have you seen his arm around her, or the two of them off by themselves talking?"

          "A … a lot, I guess," Ron said, trying to remember. Harry and Ginny had been interacting much, much more this year, he realized, considering they never even talked before. Ginny had always been too afraid to say much of anything. He thought of all the nights in the library when he and Hermione had been huddled together, sneaking kisses in the stacks or actually doing Giles' research, then emerging to smirks and whispers from the other two. "All those times…"

          "In the library," she finished with a nod. "Other times, too. In the common room. At meals. She's been eating with us for months."

          "Still, it doesn't mean he fancies her," Ron protested. "She's a nice girl. They could just be friendly. Girls that Harry … look at with Cho. He couldn't say two words. Even with Dawn, he was awkward. He's not like that at all with Ginny."

          "Of course not, because she's your sister, and she is so obviously afraid of being around him. Or at least she used to be. He's comfortable with her. Or he was, until he had to acknowledge that he was interested. Now they can't say two words to each other."

          "She's my little sister, 'Mione," he said again, his voice resigned and heavy. "Y'know Harry's like one of my brothers. Closer even, sometimes. What if … what if I had to choose between them? If one of them hurt the other?" He had been thinking about this all weekend, and she knew it was what he had really come to talk about. He had seen the kiss returned even more clearly than she had.

          She walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. He leaned back into a soft embrace, needing the comforting feel of her against him.

          "It's not really your choice, Ron. You can't say whether they'll be together or not. You just have to do the best you can with whatever happens." She kissed the top of his head as he let out a soft sigh. "They'll take care of each other. Like us. You have to trust them with that, just like they do."

_Dear Sirius,_

_          Sorry to write you when you're busy with Hogwarts business. I hope your quest for the Eye is going well. I wouldn't have said anything, except I sort of need advice, and I don't_

          Harry put down the quill. He knew he should be in bed, not out here in the firelight of the common room, in the dead of night, trying to draft a bothersome letter to Sirius about his girl troubles. If he even had girl troubles. Not to mention the best friend troubles.

          The exhaled breath came loud and long. He slid deeper into the high-backed chair, the small fire warming his face. His muscles felt tight and stretched, his whole body a vibrating rubber band of tension. A walk would have been nice, if he wasn't assured of running into Spike or one of the faculty. Doing it hunched over in the invisibility cloak would hardly be relaxing either.

          Behind him, someone stumbled coming down the stairs and banged into the railing. A voice muttered "Soddin' carpets" quietly, and Harry knew who it was.

          Ron came around to the front of the chair. He had the cloak in one hand and a weathered parchment, likely the Marauder's Map, in the other.

          "Saw you were up," he said tentatively. "Fancy a snack?" He had no idea how to make things right with Harry; they had not spoken since Ron had tackled him in the storage room. 

          "That'd be good." Harry tossed the unfinished letter in the fire, wondering what he could say to his best friend that would make things alright. He felt terribly guilty about the entire misadventure, at the same time that he was angry at Ron for not trusting him. More than anything, though, he knew he didn't want a repeat of the weeks of silence they had endured after Harry's name popped out of the Goblet of Fire. That memory pushed him up and out of the chair. They would figure it out somehow, or maybe ignore it until it faded.

          "Snape's about, patrollin' the halls. Looks like Grey and Filch, too."

          "What about Spike?" The vampire could hear their heartbeats, though he was as likely to join their repast as not.

          "Dunno. Map shows him at Hagrid's, I'm guessing their downing a few pints."

          "Makes sense. 'Specially if Grey's out." 

Ron held the map into the light. The two routes to the kitchen both had staff on them, one blocked by Grey and the other by Snape and Filch. "Pretty obvious which way to go, don't you think?"

          "Yeah," Ron agreed.

          Wordlessly, they slipped under the cloak and out of the common room. Skirting the routes adjoining Snape and Filch's locations, they ended up in the same hallway as the former auror. He leaned against a wall, scanning the corridor like a predator on the hunt. They came to a complete stop and waited for him to move.

          Grey heard light footsteps in the empty passage, then the muffled sounds of breathing. Anxiously, he drew his lightsaber and flicked it on. Invisible opponents were not high on his list of fun diversions.

          "If you're Harry or Ron," he said softly, "show yourself." More loudly, he intoned, "if not, I know you're here. It won't be pretty for you."

          Ron pulled off the cloak in one swift motion. Grey relaxed and holstered his weapon.

          "Didn't think I'd find both of you," he whispered. They traded a nervous look, and a ghost of a smile played over his lips. "Snape's on the other route to the kitchens with Filch and Mrs. Norris. We switch spots in an hour." He brushed pass them, heading for the other end of the corridor. "Try and get a little sleep. You do have class tomorrow."

          The rest of the trip went smoothly, and twenty minutes later they were back in the Zonko's storeroom, piles of food in hand courtesy of Winky.

          "So …" Harry said, taking a spoon full of chocolate pudding as he searched for a topic. "Quidditch practice tomorrow."

          "I came up with an idea for a new move," Ron declared around a piece of eclair. "I was going to show you this weekend …" His voice faded, remembering their troubles.

          "Ron…"

          "Harry…" They paused. 

          "You first…" They said simultaneously. Harry forced out a slight grin and pointed his open palm at Ron.

          "Harry, I'm sorry. I've been a total wanker about this."

          Harry watched him for a minute. "Yeah. You have."

          "I didn't mean to be. It just all happened so fast, an' I forgot it was you an' just … reacted. She's my sister, Harry. I went a little insane and bollocksed everything up, and then you weren't speaking to me, and she still isn't, and even if you had been, I didn't know what to say." He paused briefly, cocking his head to look at his friend. "I didn't know you felt that way about … Ginny."

          "Me either," Harry said with a sigh. "That … just kind of happened. And all of a sudden I was glad it was happening. It was … electric," he said, then quickly remembered that he was talking about Ron's sister. "Then you got upset, and … you're my best friend, Ron. If you tell me to stay away from her, I will." 

          "Do you want to stay away?"

          Harry shook his head. "I don't know why I'm feeling this way, but I am. I get knotted up just thinkin' about her now."

          "Like with Cho?" Harry nodded. "Bugger all."

          "Tell me about it."

          "Hermione was right."

          "What d'you mean?"

          "She said she knew how you felt way before you did. Said Willow an' Tara did too."

          "I guess. Hit me like an anvil, though."

          They sat in silence for a few endless minutes, staring at each other.

          "I don't own her," Ron said finally, echoing Hermione's words. "We both know she really likes you; I can't tell her what she can or can't have. An' it'll be somebody, someday," he finished seriously. "You're MY best friend, Harry. I want you both to be happy. It's not like there's a bloke out there who'd be better to her."

          "Thanks for that," Harry said.

          "You hurt her and I'll give you what for."

          "I won't."

          "I know." Ron offered his hand, and Harry shook it eagerly. "I'm sorry for being such an idiot."

          "You're forgiven." 

          "So we're square?"

          Harry nodded. "Now if I could figure out what to say to her, everything would be fine."

          "Me too," Ron said, drawing a rueful laugh from his friend. "Pass me some of those cookies, will you?"

Harry and Hermione skipped lunch in the dining hall on purpose, opting instead to go directly to the kitchens and gorge themselves on the offered food. Ron, as they had instructed him to, took a seat across from his sister at the half-full Gryffindor table.

She saw him sit down and rose to leave.

"Gin – wait!" He cried, instantly halfway out of his seat.

She stood absolutely still, fiery red hair covering half of her face and her one visible eye scorching him with a glare. His stomach crumpled and all of a sudden Hermione's idea seemed like a very bad one.

"Please … let me explain?"

Her eyebrow twitched slightly in response. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

"Look, I was … am a total jackass, a'right? And I'm really, really sorry."

"You knew," she spat. He had never heard such venom in her voice. "You knew how I felt … feel about Harry. You knew it, and you ruined it for me. The one time I actually … you bloody ruined it!" She stifled a sniffle, afraid that one tear would shatter the dam completely. The entire room heard her yelling and turned to stare at them. 

"I didn't mean to," he responded weakly, conscious of all the attention focused on them.

"Yes you damn well did!" Her righteous anger exploded after days of restraint. "As if you care anyway. Most of the time you can't even be bothered to talk to me. Then you see me kiss a boy, a boy you know I fancy, after I save your life no less, and you suddenly decide to be overprotective? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You think I don't care about you?" A tear meandered down his cheek.

"I know you do," she said, her tone softening at the sight, "but why did you choose then to show it? D'you know how hard that was for me to do?"

"I don't want you hurt, Ginny. I didn't think …" She nodded, but he missed it and continued. "I didn't think that he felt that way, and I didn't want you to get hurt. I just … I know how hard it must have been. I shouldn't have done it."

          "No. You shouldn't have," she said firmly, stepping away from the table. "I know you're sorry, Ron. In awhile, I'll probably even forgive you. But for now, just leave me alone, a'right? I'd like to deal with losin' my one shot at Harry without you hounding after me for forgiveness."

          "Losin' your one … but …" She was out the door before he could finish. He dropped back into the chair and stared at his now cold food. The silent room watched him carefully.

          "That was very…" Fred began. 

          "Very bad, Ronnykins," George finished as the twins came up behind him. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "An' just wait 'til she tells mum."

          Ron paled at the thought.

          "Howler for sure," George added.

          "Best that you duck," Fred said.

          "Damn."

          "How'd it go?" Harry asked Ron as the two of them and Hermione walked out of Transfiguration later that day.

          "Might've gone worse," Ron responded. "She didn't curse me or anythin'."

          "But?" Hermione said.

          "Could be years before she talks to me again. Mum'll have my head for this. Last time I try an' do the right thing," he grumbled.

          "I hope so," Harry said. "S'not like I get kissed often enough that I can afford you breaking 'em up."

          "She thinks she missed her one chance with you."

          Harry stopped and grabbed Ron's robe.

          "She what?" His eyes were wide with fear. They had the same look Ron remembered from the year before, except that one had been for Cho and not his baby sister. The thought boggled his mind.

          "She blames me for mucking things up for her for good. S'why she's so mad."

          "So she's still … I mean, that is …"

          Hermione's eyes narrowed.

          "You think she doesn't like you anymore?"

          "Well…" He had the sudden urge to be anywhere but under Hermione's nose.

          "Harry, don't be absurd. Why on Earth would she feel any differently?"

          "She's been avoiding me, an' … every time I look at her, she looks away."

          "She's embarrassed," Hermione explained. "Aren't you?"

          "A little," he mumbled, feeling foolish.

          The brown-haired girl looked pensive. "So you're still interested?" She hadn't known if he would be, but Harry nodded emphatically. "Okay then, here's what you'll do …"

          Harry was sitting alone at an empty research table in the library when Ginny arrived.

          "Hey, Ginny."

          "Hey, Harry." She blushed, wondering where the heck everyone was. "Are we still researching tonight?"

          "Umm … not quite." He gulped the breaths in, hoping she didn't hear his nervousness.

          "Oh. I thought … well, I'll just leave you to your … studies or somethin'." She spun to leave quickly, silently cursing Hermione for telling her the wrong night.

          "Hold on, Ginny. Don't go, okay?"

          She stopped and turned back.

          "I … I thought we could, y'know, talk?" He said tentatively. For the first time, she realized he was nervous too.

          "O-okay." She walked over and took the seat across from him. "What'd you want to talk about?"

          He didn't respond immediately, mesmerized by the way her hair had fallen in front of her face and down onto her shoulders. She seemed a lot prettier in the half-light of the library than he remembered. It didn't help the butterflies dancing in his stomach at all.

          "Harry?" Is he … staring at me? No. He can't be.

          "S-sorry. Look, I just … I just thought we should probably talk about the other day."

          She stiffened. "Is there really anythin' to say?"

          "A lot. I really, really like you and want to kiss you again, and I've been an idiot for not noticin' you before."

          Unfortunately, Harry didn't say that out loud. What he actually said was:

          "Yes? No? Yes."

          "Like what?"

          "You … you've been avoiding me since then, and I … wanted to make sure things are alright between us."

          "Of course things are a'right," she said, taken aback. He thought they weren't? "I mean, I hope you aren't mad … I didn't mean to …"

          "I'm not … you didn't mean to?" Dammit, Hermione.

          "Well, not … there was the fight, and us nearly …"

          "BecauseI'mrathergladyoudid," he interrupted in a rush.

          "Huh?" She stared at him.

          He forced himself to speak slowly. "I'm … glad … you … did."

          "You are?" 

He nodded. "I'm sorry about the fake research, but I needed to tell you, an' … Ron tol' me about what you said at lunch. I know I wasn't interested before, but, well, we've been talking so much and I've really enjoyed it. Then, when you kissed me … it was fantastic," he finished, relieved to say everything at once, even though his heart felt close to combustion and the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. "I didn't want you to think I didn't like you. I was a moron for not likin' you sooner."

She swooned. Every dream she had ever had about this moment couldn't hold a candle to the real thing.

"Really?"

"Really."

Instinctively, she leaned forward across the table. Harry did the same. The air in the room vibrated with possibility.

When their faces were inches apart, she spoke again.

"Are you sure? 'Cos I …"

He interrupted her with his lips. She knew instantly that he was pretty damn sure.


	67. Everything Has Consequences

          "Blast!" Voldemort snatched an axe from the floor and hurled into an ancient sofa. The resounding crash drove Wormtail into a corner, where he cowered until his Master's fury had been spent.

          "M-m-master…" Wormtail stuttered.

          "Those fools! I told them to kill the witch first. How could they have been so careless?" 

At the sound of the shrieking, the Lord of the Hunters abased himself before Voldemort. Behind his golden mask, dark energy crackled like a roaring fire.

          "Your eminence, the auror wielded his sword with more skill than we had ever encountered. We had no way of knowing …"

          "You let them escape! Do you have any idea how dangerous the witch is?" He backhanded the Hunter across the face. "Do you?"

          "Yes, my lord," he answered softly, angry at his followers for their failure. "The failing is ours. Please, allow us the chance to …"

          "No," Voldemort interrupted him. "I have other tasks for you, and other matters to attend to. Those who failed have died. For now, that is punishment enough. Need I tell you the consequences of failing again?"

The Hunter shook his head.

"Very well. Leave us."

In the hallway, the Lord of the Hunters brushed by the black-haired sorceress as she made her way to Voldemort's chambers. When she reached the door, she heard her master speaking and stopped to listen to the hissing voice.

The minion left, and Voldemort turned to the fourth occupant of the room, waiting beside Wormtail on his knees. "As for you … using children to do your work. Lucius, I think you have grown soft in my absence."

          "My lord, I assure you, my plan was foolproof. It was only…"

          "Foolproof, Malfoy? I doubt it, since you were the fool who botched it. Weasley is still in the Ministry; only the fact that Fudge continues to run things with his typical stupidity prevents them from marshaling against us."

          Malfoy quivered as the fear rushed through him. His normal arrogance retreated in the face of his imminent demise. All of the wealth and power he had accumulated would mean nothing because those children had somehow stopped him. If not for his fright, he too would have raged at the ridiculous injustice of it.

          Voldemort flicked his wrist, drawing his wand from the sleeve of his robe. He watched Malfoy's eyes widen and savored the fear in the idiot's face as it pointed at his chest.

          "_Cruciatus_."

          Malfoy screamed, writhing on the floor as the pain transported him to a place of endless suffering. Every patch of skin, every piece of bone, every strand of hair ignited at the moment the spell hit him. For agonizing minutes he knew nothing but the burning.

          Voldemort broke the spell. Malfoy lay panting on the ground, tears leaking from his eyes.

          "Really, Lucius. Screaming like a muggle. Very undignified. You're lucky I am in a forgiving mood. Wormtail?"

          "Yes, master?"

          "Remove what's left of Lucius to the couch. He has not quite expended his usefulness."

          Wormtail waddled over to the blonde wizard, scooping him up with his silver hand and dragging him to the furniture. The regrown limb afforded him preternatural strength, and after enduring years as a weakling, he made use of it at every opportunity. He negligently thrust the convulsing Malfoy onto the tattered cushions.

          Voldemort's skull-like visage turned to his portly henchman.

          "Tell me, Wormtail, how would you suggest we handle the most pressing problem on our plate?"

          "Y-you mean the Dark Sorceress, my lord?"

          "Of course, you simpleton." He never ceased to marvel at Pettigrew's whimpering stupidity. "You wish to assume her place by my side, the place Lucius once occupied, do you not?" Pettigrew nodded vigorously, too naive to hide his ambition. "Then tell me how to deal with her."

          Pettigrew had given this a great deal of thought.

          "Send her to Hogwarts again, my lord. Give her a strong cadre of Death Eaters and troops, then have them abandon her to our enemies." He looked to his master for approval; the plan had been forming for weeks.

          "You are not the brightest of my followers, Wormtail," Voldemort said, sad that only the stupid could have true loyalty. The others were all more ambitious than he thought healthy to promote. "They will defeat our people, and she will be captured, then turned. Albus Dumbledore would be more than a match for them. No, I am thinking of something a bit more grand. We shall all go to Hogwarts, Wormtail, and watch with glee as they destroy each other and I snuff the winner out like a spent candle."

          "B-but my lord … D-dumbledore …"

          "Don't worry about dear Albus, Wormtail. I have a plan for him as well. Quite the plan indeed."

          Out in the hall, fury erupted in Jess' gut. Her power screamed to level the castle and splatter Voldemort across the ruins. She restrained herself; the Dark Lord would not be so easily defeated in his home, and she would be starting a fight she could not hope to win. Though not unexpected, Voldemort's plotting had far-reaching consequences, and she needed to consider them all before acting. Despite her vast strength, she could not defeat him while he had an army at his beck and call. A random, terrible thought occurred to her: the only people with enough power to help her destroy him would most likely kill her on sight. 

Damn.

          "Buffy, hey, what's up?" Willow said into the phone.

          "Will, I need a favor." The desperate edge in her friend's voice put Willow instantly on guard.

          "Sure, Buff. Anything. You know that."

          "I need you to come get me and bring me to Spike."

          "Umm … why?"

          "I'll give you the full four-one-one later," Buffy said dismissively. "Please, Will, it's urgent."

          "Right now?"

          "Right now."

          The door to Spike's dungeon slammed open and Buffy charged into his seemingly empty home. Anger steamed from her heated flesh.

          "Dammit, Spike, where are you?" Her shout ricocheted off the bare stone.

          The vampire stepped from the shadows, unsurprised by her appearance. He wore his villain outfit – black jeans and black t-shirt under a red silk button-down, all of it covered by the duster.

          "Hello, Slayer," he said in a neutral voice. "Took Peaches longer than I thought to call you."

          She strode across the room and decked him with her right fist.

          "What the hell is wrong with you? How dare you tell him about … about those things?"

          "Can't even say it, can you?" On the floor, he wiped the blood from his mouth with his left hand. "That I told him about us?"

          "There was no 'us', you sick bastard." She kicked him in the side of the head, the toe of her leather boot ploughing a furrow in his temple. "Not in the way you mean!" She brought her other leg crashing down, but he caught it and flung her back across the room.

          "Oh, right, Slayer, I forgot. Just you usin' the vampire as your personal vibrator. No feeling at all there. Hey, didn' even need batteries, did I? Just five minutes off, and bang, ready to go, right? Very economical, luv, 'specially on your limited budget."

          He eased himself to his feet, a torrent of fury and disbelief raging through him. How dare she do this to him? Write him off like he was nothing when they both knew how she felt? The no soul-no love bargain he had accepted as fact, but he wouldn't let her lie about what was going on. Not to him, not to the Poof, and not to herself.

          "You … you …" She hurled her fists at him again, forsaking any style for raw power. One, two, then three punches rocked him back, until he drove two of his own into her stomach and shoved her away.

          "I. Had. No. Choice."

          "THE HELL YOU DIDN'T!" She swung again, but he dodged and backed away.

          "Did he tell you the story? How we had to get the bloody Eye?"

          "Your bullshit excuses – not my concern. Actually, not really a concern for you anymore, either." Mr. Pointy came out from under her jacket. She had no idea what he was talking about, and didn't care.

          The stake caught Spike speechless. Whatever Angel had said must have been vicious … She's in pain, he realized suddenly. The bastard …

          "Here's the thing, too. You can hit me. You aren't helpless. So staking you? Not a decision on the level of cutting a baby in half."

          He slipped the duster off and tossed it over the chair.

          "Go on then," he said, his arms spread wide in front of him. "Finish me off. Just another soulless demon, pet. Make it happen. Give the duster to the nibblet, eh? She wanted to try it on." He waited, his arms still open, hoping she might come to her senses before he ended up in a Hoover bag. "C'mon, what are you bleedin' waitin' for?"

          Buffy slammed the stake home brutally. He had time for a single shocked gasp before the pain overwhelmed him.


	68. No Stone Unturned

          "Harry!" Willow burst into the Gryffindor common room. "Harry, I need to see …" She looked around, seeing the usual Saturday night mass of students in the room.

          "You need to see who, Willow?" Harry and Ginny walked over, both seeing the flush and hearing the rasping breaths. Willow had been running.

          "Well, I … heard you had made a new friend, and I wanted to meet that new friend, because … he's man's best friend," she said pointedly, her voice low.

          "He's over by the fire. Umm… Spike loaned him to me." Harry called to the huge black dog sitting with Lee Jordan and the Weasleys. Sirius saw the wave and trotted to them.

          "Thanks. I wanted to meet … him." Willow cringed at her awkwardness. She was so bad at pretending. At least no one was watching carefully. She leaned down as if to pet the dog and whispered, "Spike's in trouble. It's with Buffy."

          The dog seemed to nod and Willow led him out.

          Sirius burst through the door, still in dog form, and launched himself at Buffy. The stake jutted painfully from Spike's shoulder.

          "BLOODY HELL, WOMAN!" The vampire reached up and yanked out the wood. Willow came through the door at full speed.

          "Buffy, wait … Spike!"

          Buffy kicked Sirius off of her and came to her feet in a defensive stance. Sirius morphed back into wizard form and drew his wand.

          "'Ey, Red," Spike said weakly.

          "Buffy, Sirius, stop! Buffy, that's Harry's godfather!"

          The Slayer backed off a little, eyeing Sirius carefully.

          "What are you, a were-dog?"

          "Animagus," he replied, shaking his head.

          "Like the cartoon?"

          "No, Buffy," Willow said. "He's a wizard who can turn into a dog."

          "So you're, like, your own best friend?"

          Exasperated, Sirius ignored the comment. The fate of the world routinely rested on this girl?

          "You know about what happened to us in L.A.?"

          "Us? What the hell were you doing there?" 

          Willow's appearance and the enforced pause had cleared some of the red haze from Buffy's vision, but the sting of Spike's thoughtless admissions remained fresh.

Spike tossed the stake at Buffy's feet. "D'you think the wounded could get a bit of attention before we get much deeper into the exposition?"

"Blood?" Willow asked. Neither Sirius nor Buffy seemed inclined to help him.

          Spike pointed to the fridge, and Willow dug him out a bag.

          "Yum. Cold," he muttered as he drained it.

          "You okay?"

          "Yeah, Red. Dandy. Ready to dance the foxtrot." He inched over to the wall and slumped against it.

          "I take it you heard from Angel," Sirius said, bypassing Buffy's question. He still thought Spike was more annoying than the fleas he occasionally picked up, but the vampire had known the cost of the Eye when he had paid it. Ultimately, that would help Harry, and Spike didn't deserve to be stabbed for doing the right thing for Sirius' family.

          "Yeah, I fucking heard from Angel. And Angel heard from Spike. I'm sure he was just dying to share all the details, to rub it in Angel's face what he couldn't …" Buffy's carefully built façade began to crack, but she rebuilt it swiftly with anger. Plenty of time for a good cry later.

          "It wasn't like that," Sirius said. On the floor, Spike gaped; Puddles hated him. What was he doing? "I was there. What did Angel say about what actually went on?"

          "He told me enough," she snarled. "That Spike gloated about … us," she said, spitting out the word. How could she have been so stupid to fall for an evil bastard like that?

          "Did he tell you that Spike had no choice? That the owner of the Eye demanded that Spike tell him, so that we could get it back?"

          "Again with the Eye. Who's blind and why do you care?"

          Sirius explained about the Eye and the spell.

          "Why did he want Spike to do that?"

          "Don't know."

          "He had a seer," Spike said from the floor. "She was tellin' me things … private things. I think she saw something, and the Don - 'e's the bloke who had the Eye - and the Don did it 'cos it gave him some kind of advantage." The pain had lessened and Spike heaved himself unsteadily to his feet.

          "He didn't brag about it, Buffy," Sirius assured her, sensing the perfume of hurt floating around the blonde. "He didn't want to say anything, but he had no choice. Then Angel attacked him. I swear it, and believe me, I can not stand Spike. Frankly, I'd rather you had reason to stake him."

          "Thanks, Puddles," Spike said under his breath.

          "It's true," Willow said, having heard it from Harry. "They don't like each other."

          Buffy stood motionless for almost a minute, then nodded. The adrenaline rush drained away instantly, leaving her stomach in the cold, empty aftermath of her misdirected anger.

          "Come on, Sirius. We have to go do ... that thing … that isn't here." Willow, reading the moment perfectly, grabbed his arm and led him out. Spike nodded his thanks to the wizard as they departed.

          Then he and Buffy were alone.

          She looked at him, and the tears sprang up behind her eyes.

          "I'll kill him, luv," Spike said softly, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Whatever he said to you … I'll kill him for it."

          At his obvious concern, Buffy loosed the tears and fell into his arms. For endless minutes, she sobbed on his uninjured shoulder.

          "I ruined your silk shirt," she whispered when she calmed down. Her tears soaked his entire arm.

          "S'okay. Stole it from Peaches."

          "Spike … this … I can't …"

          "Buffy." His steely glare settled on her beautiful eyes. "I wouldn't have done that for sport."

          "I know, Spike. I know. I got so mad … he …"

          "What'd he say, pet?"

          "About what you would expect. How could I? You're a monster, dangerous and evil, out of my mind, blah blah blah. I'd rather not do a word for word, y'know?"

          "What'd you say?"

          "Asked him how he dared pass judgment on me like that with all of the things that I've … you know what, let's not." She spun out of his arms and faced away from him.

          Not knowing what to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

          "What's goin' on with you, Buffy? Why are you really here?"

          "I'm really confused, Spike. I had to know."

          "'Bout what, exactly?"

          "You," she answered quietly. After seeing him at Christmas, her feelings had come rushing forward. In rare moments of honesty, she had admitted to herself that she might have fallen in love with the blonde vampire, except that he would always be a soulless killer. She knew full well he would not have bragged to Angel that way, but the other vampire had made it sound so … and he did it on purpose, she realized. He was jealous.

          "Probly should talk to Red about that, Slayer, not me."

          The pain coalesced between them.

          "I just wish …"

          "That I had a soul?"

          She stared at him for a long minute.

          "That I could know you weren't still a mass-murderer underneath your chip." Which meant yes.

          "What would happen if you could?"

          "Don't go there, Spike."

          "I think we bloody well should, Buffy. Because I'm not. Whether you think so, whether my damn demon thinks so, it doesn't matter. I know what I am." He grabbed her forcefully and twisted her to face him. "I'm in love with you, and if that means no more killing for Spike, you know damn well I won't kill."

          "It can't be about you loving me, Spike. That's … it's not enough." She pushed him away. "It just isn't. It has to be about not killing."

          "If it was, you'd let yourself love me." It wasn't a question, but there was fear in his voice. As if he might actually be right, and was finally seeing it made fact.

          "Yes."

          She raced out of the room. Spike collapsed onto his bed, overwhelmed by his grief.


	69. Reassessment

          "Giles?" Grey stepped into the Watcher's classroom as the last students of the morning filed out.

          He looked up from the homework piled on his desk. "Grey! What can I do for you? Hopefully something to keep me away from some of the more infuriating tasks associated with this job?"

          "Lots of homework?"

          "I believe I hate grading it a bit more than they hate doing it."

          Both men chuckled.

          "What about Willow?"

          "I only give her about half of what I assign."

          "Yikes." Willow graded homework at least three hours every night. Sometimes more, if they had too many playful interludes, but Grey wasn't about to mention that here.

          "Indeed. But you must have a reason for being here, beyond listening to my prattling?"

          "Yeah, I do. I wanted to work the quarterstaff tonight. Spike's okay with it, but not at anything other than sparring, and I need some technique help. Besides, he's a little … preoccupied right now. I thought you might …"

          Giles nodded his affirmation. Physical exercise would be a welcome break. "Certainly. The Council trains it thoroughly. I can perhaps give you some instruction, if that's what you seek?"

          "That would be great. Thanks. I thought we could talk research while we're doing it?" The Watcher agreed. They had acquired the Eye of the Golem three weeks earlier, and he, Hermione, and Tara had studied it extensively. "Alright. I'm usually up there about eight. See you then."

          "That will be another ten points, Miss Granger. Longbottom and Potter need to do their own work."

          "But Professor …"

          "Talking back. Ten more points. Would you care to try for another ten?"

          Stunned, Hermione rocked back in her chair. With those twenty, Gryffindor had lost seventy-five points in fifteen minutes, all for offenses not even Snape would usually trifle with. His foul mood radiated like a newborn sun.

          "No, sir." The tone, meek and defeated, should have been enough to mollify him. Today's assignment was to distill aum into a useful anti-bacterial paste, then successfully combine it with the Clew ointment. The resulting concoction had an intense effect on the infection of open wounds, but also the potential of horrendous side effects. She had aided Harry and Neville out of fear that Snape might test it on one of them.

          "Hmmm…" The Potions Master looked her over. "Sarcasm. Challenging my authority. How very unlike you, Granger. You're usually not so foolish. Another ten." He offered an icy smile and walked away from her desk to check on the other students.

          Hermione turned white. Ron slipped a hand onto her back briefly in support. He and Harry traded a look of anger and disgust, but said nothing more.

          Across the room, an equally disgusted Tara decided she had endured enough. Signing on as Snape's assistant had been a terrible idea.

          "Goddess, Willow," she muttered, incensed that she had allowed the red-haired witch to talk her into this. Edging along the far side of the room from Snape, she walked among the students, inspecting their potions.

          "Oh my, Mr. Weasley," Snape said as Ron added the newt skin too early. His work turned bright green, indicating its worthlessness. "Quite incorrect. I suppose you'll have to start again. And ten points for failing to keep your hands to yourself," he added pointedly. "This is a class, not a bedroom. A class you would do much better in with a bit more study, it seems." Snape cocked his head to the right, peering at Ron's battered textbook. "Or perhaps you might think about some newer textbooks? Not that you could do more than think about them, I suppose."

          Ron's face flushed raspberry. He opened his mouth to let loose a furious torrent of insults, points be damned.

          Tara beat him to it.

          "How dare you!" She strode forcefully across the room, forgetting for the moment that she was not a confrontational person. A month of Snape had pushed her too far. All she could feel was anger. "Forget about the fact that you're a teacher! What kind of a person treats people this way? Publicly insulting these kids? What's wrong with you?!?"

          "Miss Maclay," he barked, but Tara would not be put off.

          "You … you abuse your power over them. I never thought anyone could be so cruel! What have Ron and Hermione done to deserve that? Or Neville? Or Harry?" Tara stopped a foot away from him; in his black robes, his sinister presence towered over her.

          "You are speaking out of turn, little girl!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, knocking over Seamus Finnegan's cauldron and causing the hushed students to jump backwards. "You have no idea what you're talking about! Granger, Potter, Weasley … troublemakers all. Longbottom … completely incompetent. I am disciplining them…"

          "A-are you serious?" Tara asked, eyes wide as dinner plates. "You can't honestly believe …" She peered at him, carefully appraising his demeanor. "Y-you do think you're doing the right thing. I-I thought part of you might know … b-but you don't!"

          "What are you nattering on about? I'll have you know that I will not …" He fumed, unable to even express his rage that this stuttering buffoon of a girl would speak to him in this manner.

          "Well, y-you won't have to," she replied. "I quit."

          She stormed out of the room.

          "So no luck yet?" Grey ducked under Giles' staff and swung his own toward the Watcher's midsection.

          "Not a thing, I'm afraid. We understand," he paused, grunting as he parried Grey's predictable blow. "As I was saying, we understand the use of the Eye and its role within the spell, but Tara is unable to feed much energy into it."

          Grey sidestepped another strike before answering. "You're not letting Willow near it, right?" They both had concerns about how much power the Eye might draw out during the spell.

          "Correct." A buttstroke whizzed by the Watcher's head, and he landed a counterstroke hard on Grey's shoulder. "Hold on a minute. Your problem is that you're too impatient, which I must admit surprises me somewhat. According to Spike, you're very patient in hand-to-hand."

          Grey shrugged. He had always tried for aggressive, assuming it was the best way.

          "The quarterstaff is like a dance. You must use the openings you're given. Like this…"

          "You just up and left? Like a dramatic storm-off?"

          "P-pretty much," Tara confirmed. She shifted her coat around her, trying to block out the icy wind roiling across the rooftop. The intermittent thwacks of Giles and Grey practicing punctuated their conversation.

          "What'd you do when Dumbledore came to you? Or were you all 'I'm angry, leave me alone' and didn't talk to him?"

          "N-no, w-we talked. He wasn't mad or anything. He said he understood, that he knows Snape isn't the ideal teacher."

          "Big duh there," Willow said, shaking her head. All year she had wondered how Dumbledore, who seemed to know everything about Hogwarts at all times, could let someone like Snape stay on as a teacher. "What else did he say?"

          "So you're saying I need to follow the rhythm more?"

          "Indeed. You haven't trained with this much, have you?" Grey shook his head. "You really should. It will help your hand-to-hand and swordwork."

          "Never had anyone who knew how to use a staff correctly." They traded a dozen more strikes, none of them penetrating. He could tell Giles was going easy on him. No matter how quickly he thought he moved, the Watcher intercepted him effortlessly. "What about the other end of it? Undoing something from the inside?"

          "We're quite stymied there, I'm afraid," Giles answered, slamming the staff into the Jedi's thigh. "There are any number of spells that could have been used, and more than a dozen that could be tied directly to the _Plague_," he said after Grey yelped painfully.

          "Any patterns to how they're broken?"

          "He said he has his reasons for keeping Snape." Tara had been expressly forbidden from explaining Snape's role as a double agent after Dumbledore had sketched it out for her. Dumbledore, though he trusted Willow, had told Tara in no uncertain terms that she could not say anything. If Willow were ever to go bad, Snape would face swift execution. Given his importance to their cause, she understood why Dumbledore felt it necessary to trade an adequate cover for the comfort of some students. "He also a-asked me to reconsider."

          "Why was that?"

          "I-I think he wants me there as a moderating influence, you know? Somebody to follow in the wake of Snape's meanness with some of the friendly."

          "That makes sense." Willow blew into her mitten-clad hands to warm them. Offering to watch Grey practice had seemed like a better idea inside by the fire. "Plus there's the fact that you're, like, queen of the potions."

          "I'm okay," Tara said with her normal air of self-deprecation.

          "Okay? Okay my … my sweet-patootie!" They both laughed. "You know what I mean, Tara. You're so good at them, it's scary."

          Tara blushed at the praise. "Pr-professor Dumbledore sort of said that, too. He said it w-would be a waste not to be trained by Snape, who is as talented as anyone who ever worked at Hogwarts."

          "A'course, then you have to be with Snape, which is a minor downside."

          "Uh huh."

          "What are you going to do?"

          "I think I'll give it a shot," Tara said. "Professor D-dumbledore, he was really convincing. And it's better if I can try and balance all the badness in the Potions class, I think. Don't you?"

          "Totally," Willow said with a nod.

          "No," Giles responded. "In fact, most of them have little information on how to break them at all. I do have some theories, of course."

          "Enlighten me," Grey requested as he spun away from the end of Giles' weapon.

          "Well, several years ago, Willow did a spell to enter Buffy's mind."

          Grey stopped in mid-swing.

          "Absolutely not," he barked vehemently. Across the roof, Willow and Tara heard him and turned. He waved at them to stay away. "Those spells are insanely dangerous for the caster."

          "I know that," Giles said sternly. "Do you honestly believe I want to put Willow in that much danger? I am saying it may be our only alternative, especially with the message your young lady delivered to us."

          "No. There has to be another way."

          "I very much doubt it, and preventing Miss O'Brien from doing anymore harm must be our paramount concern. We may simply run out of time to find it."

          Grey shook his head and spoke without thinking. "We can't risk Willow like that; that's where I draw the line. If it comes down to that … if it comes down to that, I'll kill Jess myself before letting Willow cast the spell." As he said it, his gut twisted at the truth of the thought. So much for questioning his allegiances. Not that the choice made him feel any better. He thought he could smell vanilla faintly on the wind, and the sadness surged inside him.

          "I will try and find an alternative," Giles said, concern evident in his voice. He doubted one existed.


	70. The Geek and the Vampire

          "Spike?" Willow's voice echoed through the dungeon. The lights were out, except for the flickering blue glow of the television. The sour stench of whiskey and unshowered vampire filled the room.

          "Gettin' ready to watch _Passions_, Red. Go away."

          "It's a tape. Could you maybe wait a few minutes?"

          "Why?" 

She stepped into the room, taking in the pathetic sight. The vampire lay on his bed, shirtless over his black jeans. He had the remote control in hand and a mug of blood and whiskey on the nightstand. The clock on the wall read 8 a.m.

          "Well … because I'm here, and I'm a guest, and it's rude to ignore your guests in favor of television," she said primly.

          "Didn't invite you. S'not my fault you came during telly time."

          "When else could I talk to you? I've seen you, what, once since you got back from L.A.? And that was to save your life from an irate vampire slayer, I might add. I think I'm entitled to a conversation."

          "Go 'way."

          Willow mentally snatched a bottle of whiskey from the floor next to the bed. It rose of its own accord, plucked like a puppet by her power, and drifted above Spike. He watched it carefully, catching a double eyeful of alcohol when she dumped the contents on him.

          "BUGGER! What're ya doin', you crazy bint?" The alcohol slurred his speech and dulled his senses, but he couldn't miss the ball of fire whirling above her hand once he rubbed the whiskey out of his eyes. "Whu-whuzzat?"

          "Are you going to listen now? Or is it time for Chef Willow and her famous Spike flambe?"

          "Listenin'," he grumbled.

          "What's going on with you? You've disappeared from campus for weeks. Grey's covering for you, patrolling every night, but you're keeping him out of my bed and he's dead tired, and I just don't like that. Plus, I'm … I'm worried about you. What happened when Buffy was here?"

          "She didn't tell you, pet?"

          Willow knew what was wrong with Buffy, could feel how much she loved Spike and how conflicted it made her, but the Slayer had refused to discuss it.

"She told me she wasn't ready to. She gets like that sometimes. Xander doesn't know either, and we're worried." The fireball winked out, and Willow approached Spike tentatively. "I thought we were … y'know, friends?"

          The vampire barked a laugh.

          "Friends, Red? Not bloody likely. Wouldn'ta been 'round at'all, 'cept you and Darth Luke up there always need the Big Bad lookin' out fer you."

          Undeterred, Willow pressed on.

          "I don't believe that. I think you're scared that I might be able to help you, so you're being a big meany."

          "Don't reckon I've ever been called that before, pet. Big meany. Heh."

          They watched each other for a few silent minutes.

          "She told you she loved you, didn't she?" Willow said tenderly. Even if she hadn't seen at Christmas how close Buffy was to falling in love with Spike, she would have known what her friend's appearance meant.

          Hearing it aloud from someone other than himself pushed Spike over the brink; he collapsed into manic sobbing. Willow flashed back to the night in the factory. Bottle in face not a problem this time, she thought ruefully.

          "Said she couldn't, 'less she knew I wasn't a killer," Spike finally squeaked out between sobs. "But … that … she … could … if I …"

          Tentatively, Willow moved up next to him and laid a hand on the back of his cold neck. It had always worked with Xander. To her surprise, the drunk vampire leaned into her and let his tears soak her black robe.

          "If you what?"

          "Proved … muhself …" Reflex forced him to try for unneeded air in big gulps. Finally his sobs peaked and slowed to simple crying.

"What're you gonna do?"

          He looked up at her, tears staining his face and clouding his eyes.

          "Don't you get it, Red? Nothin' more I can do. She said it can't be about her, but no matter how good I try and be, I'd only be doing it for her. So there's no way I can prove it. It'll always be about her."

          "That's not true," Willow said sharply.

          "Yeah, it is, Willow. I'm sorry if I don't fit into your Hero Spike mold anymore, but it is. I'm doin' it the way I am so I don't lose her. All of it."

          Willow didn't respond, knowing it was false but unsure how to convince Spike. She understood her friend's wariness, but also knew that it came more from Buffy's fear of falling in love again than with Spike actually needing to do anything. 

He had been helping them too long for it to be an act.

          "I don't think so, but maybe you need to find that out on your own. Are you gonna try?"

          He wiped the tears from his face. Somewhere in his drunken stupor, the decision had been made, and he needed to announce it to himself. To make it somehow real.

          "I am." He swung his piercing blue eyes onto her emerald green ones. "When the year is over, I'm leavin'. I'm not coming back until … until I've changed things."

Willow knew what that meant. A soul. Of course. 

She nodded. "If you … if you need magical help, y-you can come to me and Tara. Maybe there's a spell or something. We could look, if you want. And Angel's curse … no, that would be no good, 'cause of the no sex. But maybe there's something else." She had spent endless hours researching a cure for Angel's condition, though, and knew that any solution would be near-impossible to find. 

          "Maybe, pet," he replied, his tears slowing and his voice resigned. He shook off her hand. "Maybe. I'm thinkin' it won't be enough for her, though, no matter how much mojo you use. I need to find it on my own."

          "Don't give up, Spike," Willow said, knowing he needed reassurance. For a moment, it occurred to her how odd this was – her consoling Spike and assuring him that yes, her friend that he had repeatedly tried to slaughter really did love him. Bizarre would not have covered it, except for two things: one, Willow had gotten to know Spike by now, and she had finally come around to Dawn's way of thinking about him, and two, that she didn't want Buffy to be alone when someone she cared for obviously treasured her so dearly.

"She really does love you, I think. I wasn't sure until she came here the second time. She was really … hurt by what she thought you did. More hurt by that than by anything Angel said."

          "You mean that?" 

          The redhead nodded vigorously.

          "I do."

          "So there's hope for me yet, eh?" A weak smile intruded on his features. He thought of what the Don had said about help. Buffy in love with him … no price would stop him from making that a reality.

          "Definitely."

          He took her hand and held it in his own, touched by her concern for him. 

"Red … thanks."

          She smiled sweetly.

          "You're welcome, Spike." Her smile morphed into a glare. "Now get your ass out of bed, sober up, and start doing your damn job so that my boyfriend can do his. And me," she added, her blush blunting the effect of her sly grin.

          "Vixen," he said with a shake of his head.

          "Hell yeah, I am."

          Dumbledore lounged in the hallway outside of the dungeon, waiting for her to emerge.

          "So you've spoken with William, have you?"

          Hearing Spike's given name made her smile.

          "Yep."

          "Good. I trust a visit from me will not be required to have him resume his duties?"

          "No. He'll be back. Hopefully after a few days in the shower." She wrinkled her nose at the smell. "You knew, didn't you? About him and Buffy?"

          Dumbledore smiled, his eyes glimmering in the firelight.

          "Of course, my dear. Mr. Giles was kind enough to fill me in on William's recent activities when you three first arrived. Unlike your Miss Summers, however, I have great faith that William has overcome his obstacles."

          "You're a big Spike fan, huh, Professor?"

          "Yes, quite. He's not a normal vampire, Miss Rosenberg. He never has been. I am not surprised that, once properly motivated, he came over to our side. He's always had a bit of a protective streak in him, you know."

          "I totally do," she affirmed, thinking of Dawn. "Professor, he …"

          Dumbledore raised a hairy white eyebrow.

          "Do you know of some way to … restorehissoul?"

          "No, Willow, I don't. I understand, though, that you are far more knowledgeable in that area than I am."

          "The only way I know won't allow him to love."

          "That would be problematic," Dumbledore agreed, "and rather pointless. Perhaps … perhaps he will be able to figure it out on his own."

"I hope so."


	71. Countdown I: Something Missing

          Tara counted the vials one more time, just to be sure. Not that chrystella was particularly valuable, but she wanted to make absolutely certain that her first major inventory of the storeroom was correct. On a second piece of paper, she jotted notes about ingredients she thought would be frequently pulled. She felt him hovering behind her, tainting the air with his overbearingly foul presence, but she opted to ignore him for as long as possible.

          Snape cleared his throat loudly, then spoke to her back

          "Miss Maclay," he said, stretching her last name out, "what exactly do you think you are doing?"

          "I-inventory, Professor." She turned, willing herself to stay calm and fighting back the equal parts of fear and anger that were creeping into her mind.

          "I see. Why are you doing that? I keep very strict inventory records."

          "I know, but I wanted to know what was in here. I wouldn't want to hold up your class because I didn't know where something was."

          "Very well." He paused. "I will have you know that I will not tolerate a repeat outburst such as the other day. In my classroom, you will behave yourself and respect my authority at all times. Is that clear?"

          "Y-yes, sir."

          "Just because Dumbledore believes your meager talent is worthy of my time," he continued, eyeing her coldly, "does not mean that you have the right to intrude on the way I conduct my class."

          Tara had decided earlier that allowing him to bully her at the start would be an invitation for him to dominate her all the time. "You take yourself pretty seriously, don't you, Professor?"

          "What exactly are you implying with that statement?"

          "If we're going to be working together, y-you need to understand something." She silently cursed her stutter again. "I'm here to help teach these k-kids, not t-to fetch ingredients for you and kiss your ass," she said bluntly. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to stay here with you, and I will. You know a lot about potions that I want to learn, but don't think you can insult me whenever you w-want. I won't stand for it."

          The tirade from the seemingly sweet, shy Tara drove Snape back a mental step. The girl's stutter belied the force inside her, and he decided instantly that crossing her would not be wise. Snape respected that; people who folded quickly under his pressure were worthy of nothing but derision. This girl, on the other hand … he had been thoroughly surprised by her acceptance of Dumbledore's request, which had come from Snape himself. The Potions Master had not meant to drive the girl away, only to establish that he ruled his own classroom. Despite his earlier comment, he believed she possessed a true gift for potion-making. Much like cooking, the brewing of potions required a healthy dose of artistry to accompany the science. Tara had that in abundance.

          Even so, he would not surrender so easily. He was still a full Professor, and her superior.

          "You … won't stand for it? Little girl, I have been a full professor in this school since before you parted the pages of your first spellbook. I have seen hundreds upon hundreds of students pass through my classroom. I have guided some of them to brilliant careers in this field. I …"

          "Professor," she said, her hand whipping up to cut him off, "I-I know you have more experience than I do, and that this is your class. B-but … the children … some of them dread coming down here."

          "Yes, they do, don't they," he replied with a joyful sneer.

          "How can you like that?"

          Because I am making them stronger, Snape answered silently. He had no respect for weakness, and worked as hard as he could to attack it. And no one, he added with a self-satisfied mental smirk, conquered weakness better than Severus Snape. Even Longbottom had toughened dramatically under Snape's fierce assaults. How could this girl not see that? How could she miss the service he had done for these children, searing the weakness out of them? Had someone done that to him as a boy … he might be vastly better off. Either way, he certainly felt no need to justify himself to her.

          "I think, Miss Maclay, that this discussion is at an end. If you are to work with me, you will accept my methods and follow my instructions. Should you have a question, you …" He gritted his teeth, accepting the small concession Dumbledore had insisted upon."You may approach me with it after class, and we will discuss it."

          Tara accepted that. She had no choice, really. It was his class, after all, and she could, she hoped, do as she had told Willow: hover in the background and soften Snape's sharp edges.

          "O-okay, Professor. I'm fine with that."

          "Very well, then. Show me your notes." She looked at him askance. "I wish to know what items you focused on." They both stood there, waiting, until, under his breath, he added, "please."

          She smiled and handed them to him. His beady eyes moved rapidly across the pages.

          "What is this? I have four vials of arsirrah, not three."

          "N-no," Tara said, pointing to the shelf. Arsirrah had the unique ability to enhance the properties of whatever it was mixed with, though on its own it was useless. "I only count three."

          He glared at the three jars, then looked quickly back to the list. Nothing else seemed to be missing. Except for …

          "Someone has been stealing again. And I know who."

          Dinner had almost concluded when Snape stormed into the dining hall. He made a beeline for Harry, who was eating with Ron, Neville, Fred, and George.

          "Potter! Where are they?"

          "Where are who, Professor?" The anger in Snape's twisted visage ignited every fear alarm in Harry's body.

          "Don't play with me, boy," the Potions Master snarled. He leaned his fleshy beak down into Harry's face. "Do you remember what I told you before about stealing from me? And supplies to cheat on your quizzes, no less." Snape rocked backwards, opening up a gap between them. Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He had no idea what Snape was on about. "Shameful. The famous Harry Potter, reduced to cheating to pass his classes."

          "Now Severus," Dumbledore said, coming up and resting a restraining hand on Snape's shoulder, "I seriously doubt that Harry is cheating on anything. What seems to be the trouble?"

          "Once again, supplies have gone missing from my store room, Professor."

          "Which supplies would those be?"

          "Tell him what you took, Potter!"

          "B-but …" Harry had no idea what Snape was talking about. They hadn't stolen supplies from him in a very long time.

          "Severus," Dumbledore warned.

          "Arsirrah, Professor. A jar of it, along with two boxes of skry root, are missing from my stores. As you know, when combined, those two can produce a very potent memory enhancer."

          Grey, who had walked over to join the discussion with Willow following quickly behind, caught Dumbledore's eye and raised his left eyebrow. He got a slight nod in return.

          "I do not see how that implicates Mister Potter," Dumbledore intoned, "as his grades have, I hear, been superb this term."

          "Yes, well …" Snape blustered, unsure what to say. Ron smirked behind his hand, knowing that Snape's dislike of Harry had been his only evidence.

          "I suggest you discuss this with Hagrid and Mr. Filch. Perhaps one of them might find it somewhere." With that pronouncement, Dumbledore turned and glided back to his meal.

          "What was that all about?" Willow asked in the hallway afterwards.

          "Snape's an ass," Grey answered with a shrug.

          "I know that, duh. I've met the man, after all. No, I mean the little coded tete-a-tete with Professor Dumbledore?"

          "Oh." Grey paused. "How much do you know about potion-making?"

          "Pretty much not much," she admitted. The subject interested her very little, and as she once explained to Tara, all of her efforts ended up soup. The result had always been a rare bout of scholarly apathy.

          "Me either, but to be an auror, you have to learn about magical poisons. Arsirrah and skry root, with a few other common household goodies tossed in, can make a pretty intense one."

          "Great, so now we have to do what? Hire one of those food tasters? That'd be way medieval."

          "On the plus side, though, you'd have someone other than me calling you 'your highness' when they kiss your ass."

          She wiggled her eyebrows with a suggestive smile. 

"That could be fun," she said sweetly, giggling at his scowl.

"Honestly, don't you two ever do your homework?" Hermione was asking Ron and Harry in the Gryffindor common room.

"Only when you bloody well make us," Ron muttered under his breath. Her brown eyes went wide; for a moment he imagined he saw flames burst from her nostrils. "Kidding, hon, kidding. Really. Just rufflin' your feathers."

"Well, we'll see later who …"

"Hermione, come on." Harry cut her off, not wanting to hear her retort about the two of them ruffling anything. "Just ignore him and tell us what's so important about a couple of missing ingredients."

She glared at him for a second, then explained about the possible poison.

"That's not good," Ron said after a moment. "Who d'you think they're gonna poison?"

"We don't know that they'll poison anyone," Harry answered. To Hermione, he asked, "couldn't someone be making a memory potion, like Snape thought?"

"Could be." She thought for a moment. "There are easier ones to make that are more powerful, though. And they could easily buy the ingredients in Hogsmeade for very little, whereas skry root is enormously expensive. Arsirrah is not exactly worthless either."

"Great. Now we have to worry about what's in the bloody food. Because Death Eaters and crazy witches weren't enough to worry about."

"Calm down, Ron. I doubt they'll poison everyone," Hermione lectured. "They would need quite a bit more to do in the entire school. From what you told me Snape said, it sounds like they only took enough to poison one or two people."

"Dumbledore!" Harry shouted suddenly, the realization hitting him like an anvil. "They're going to poison Dumbledore!"

          "He'd be the obvious one," Ron agreed. "We should find 'em, right? Tell him?"

          "I'm sure he knows," Hermione said. "We can't do much to help him that he can't do for himself. What we need to do is find the people who took the ingredients and stop them."

          "They're probly workin' for You-Know-Who."

          "Agreed," Harry asserted. "We must flush them out as soon as possible."

          "How?" Ron asked.

          "I've got an idea of where to start."

          "You're not goin' to that wanker Malfoy, are you?"

          "D'you have a better idea how to find out which one of the Snakes is going to do Voldemort's dirty work?"

          Ron scowled fiercely, glaring at Harry.

          "I don't like it. Before, that was one thing. We had no choice when he came to us. Now, it's completely different. Besides, this isn't about his slimy family. How do we know he'd help? Or that he'd tell the truth?"

          "What else can we do?" Hermione broke in. "I mean, I'll look in the library for the cure, but I seem to recall that the poison acted fast enough that there wasn't time to brew it. Our only other choice is to find whoever has it before they use it."

          "You KNOW how I feel about Malfoy, Ron," Harry said patiently, "but you saw his face that day. He hates them a lot more than he hates us."

          "I don't trust him," Ron mumbled.

          "And we do?" Hermione responded, her voice rising. "I just don't believe that we have any other choice."


	72. Countdown II: Making the Rounds

          "What do you want?" Sirius snarled as Spike strode into the Shrieking Shack.

          "Real friendly-like, aren't ya? I thought dogs were all cuddly an' stuff."

          "Not all of us," he growled. Weeks of hiding in dog-form or in the Shack had permanently fouled his mood, and he had no tolerance whatsoever for the vampire. "Shouldn't you be passed out somewhere with a bottle in hand?"

          "Calm down, Puddles. I'm not here to piss in your backyard. Brought you this." He pulled a black flask from inside his duster and tossed it to Sirius, who snagged it out of the air with one hand. "Tryin' to cut back on the sauce. Rots my liver, you know?" He grinned, and Sirius actually broke a half-smile before catching himself. "Anyway, figure I owe you for the other night. Thought we might toss a few back before I do my serious detoxin'."

          "Whiskey?"

          Spike nodded. Sirius took a swig, feeling the dark liquor burn all the way down to his stomach. He hadn't had real whiskey since before his ordeal. It tasted better than his memory promised.

          "What is it?"

          "Black Bush. Good stuff, that is. Cost an arseload to get it, too, and I'm bein' kind enough to let you have a bit." He pulled the rest of the bottle out of his duster, took a decent hit from it, and planted it on the table. They each grabbed a scarred chair and sat down. "Dumbledore thought you could do with a few belts, and after what happened in my dungeon ..." Spike let it hang, but Sirius knew that this was a close to a thanks as the vampire would get.

          "Albus is a smart man," Sirius agreed. He noticed a gold plate shining on one side of the flask and looked at it. The word 'Puddles' had been engraved in script. "You pillock," he said, this time letting a laugh out.

          Spike guffawed heartily. "Thought you'd like that. Red's pretty handy with the transfiguring, eh? Usedta be an actual whiskey bottle. The flask's from her, for keepin' her best friend from being stupid. I figured you'd know what to do with it."

          "Not bad," he said, admiring the spellwork. "Well, you're both welcome. She must mean a lot to you. You don't seem the type to share and share-alike."

          "Thought it would be good for a laugh," his mouth said. His eyes betrayed a different answer, sparking an ember of intrigue in Sirius.

          "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't she a vampire slayer? And you … besides being a worthless sack o' crap, you're a vampire."

          "The man speaks the truth," he said, taking a long pull on the bottle.

          "How does something like that come about?"

          "Don't rightly know. Just sorta happens. One day you're tryin' to off the bloody strumpet just like the rest, then you go to bed and wake up screamin' from a soggy dream of her wrapped around you."

          "I guess," Sirius said, flinching at the vivid imagery. "How's she feel about you?"

          "She's a woman, mate. Confused about her feelings like all the rest." He explained, tersely, about their brief affair. "Doesn't like me, can't hate me, won't want me. It's shit, basically."

          "Sounds like fun," Sirius said, taking another drink. He almost felt bad for Spike; he had never been deep enough in love to feel that kind of pain over it, and any time he might have had to do so had been stolen by fate.

          "No, not really." Spike shrugged. "What about you? You must be itchin' for a woman, all those years in the clink and whatall."

          "Haven't thought about it much," Sirius said honeslty. "Mostly spend my time worryin' about Harry or tryin' to help out Dumbledore."

          "He's a good one, Harry," Spike said. "Keeps his head about him. Stood right up to that bitch at Halloween, too, and that was almost certain death."

          "So I heard," Sirius replied, his voice heavy with anger.

          "Boy's got the hero gene, Puddles. Nothin' you can do about it."

          "I know. I just don't want him hurt, that's all."

          "You'll be stickin' around awhile longer, then?"

          "Looks like it. Dumbledore's working on a solution. Until it's ready, I'm stuck here or doin' the dog bit."

          Spike nodded. "Could be worse. Least this way you get to be around Harry, right?"

          "True," Sirius agreed. He emptied the flask in one swallow. "Hand me that bottle, will you?"

          "Malfoy."

          "Potter."

          Harry had arranged the midnight meeting by letter, using a school owl as an extra precaution. As far as he knew, no one suspected about Malfoy helping capture MacNair and Flint, but best to be safe. Draco might not know anything, but if an assassin was roaming the Hogwarts halls, chances were someone in Slytherin would, and it would not do to have them find out about Malfoy's wavering allegiances.

          He and Draco stood facing each other in the Divination tower, where Harry knew no one in their right mind went at night. Neither does Professor Trelawney, he added with a mental grin.

          "You hear about the stuff that's missing from Snape's storage room?"

          "Tell me you didn't get me out of bed to talk about a bag of roots or some such. Dammit, Potter, if I get caught …"

          "They can be used to make poison," Harry continued, ignoring Malfoy's obnoxious attitude.

          "So? Worried about your bacon an' eggs now? What concern is that of mine?"

          "Will you shut up for two bloody minutes and listen? Hermione says they took enough to poison one person, maybe two. We think they'll go after Dumbledore."

          "Or you," Draco said with a smirk. He could see where Potter was going with this and knew he would throw his lot in with them again, but it was too much fun to forego needling Potter a little first. Voldemort seemed the likely culprit, and flushing out an agent of his would be a serious setback. "I can just see the Daily Prophet headline now: Boy Who Lived Dead – Bangers and Mash Suspected."

          "Are you going to listen to me or crack jokes?" Harry's face had gone slightly pink. Malfoy still had the ability to piss him off royally.

          "Alright, alright. Keep your knickers 'round your waist. You want me to poke about, right? See if the Death Eaters are up to no good?"

          "Subtly, yeah. Can you handle it?"

          "Better than you lot an' your invisibility cloak, that's for sure."

          Harry cocked his head and looked askance at the smirking blonde. He thought of Ron's scowl and decided he had to hear it for himself.

          "Are you sure you want to get in this far, Malfoy? All that other stuff is one thing; I can see getting back at your father. He's a nasty git. This is different. If someone really is going to use that poison, it's probably at Voldemort's direct order."

          "Like I don't know that?" Malfoy answered angrily. "If I wasn't in, I wouldn't even be here."

          Draco had spent a long time thinking about the episode with the Weasleys since he had seen MacNair and Flint hauled off by the Ministry. Their fate, he understood rapidly, would be far kinder than the one which awaited him if he was caught. 

On the other hand, what sort of a future would he have in a Voldemort-dominated world? He would spend his entire life under their thumbs, Voldemort's and his father's. He didn't give a rat's arse about muggles or the Ministry, both of which would fare poorly in such a circumstance. What he did care about was being his own man, someone held in awe. Someone powerful. Choosing Voldemort's path would never allow him that. He would always be his father's son. Helping to stop them, on the other hand, blazed an entirely new path for the Malfoy name. Morality be damned, that was what Draco wanted.

He wasn't ready to all-out declare for Dumbledore. That would be foolhardy, especially at a time when he had finally begun to repair his stature in Slytherin house. No, it would be easier and safer to serve as a conduit for information, leaving the actual fighting to Potter and his merry men. If they got hurt, well, life has its little bonuses.

"As long as you're sure," Harry said.

"Don't worry about me, Potter. I'll do my part. You just make sure Granger and Weasley help you kick his arse once I find him."

With that pronouncement, Draco spun on his heel and stalked off into the night.


	73. Countdown III: Twisted Turns

          "It will be an honor, master." Jess held her eyes to the floor as she spoke, knowing he preferred that.

          "Very good, Precious. I trust I do not have to tell you that you had best not fail me this time?"

          "Of course not, master."

          "Good. That will be all." He turned back to the correspondence on his mahogany desk, summarily dismissing her.

          Jess quickly departed, slipping through the empty corridors in wraith-like silence until she reached her suite. Slumping against the inside of the door, she fought to control her pounding heart. She had not expected Voldemort to order the attack for weeks; the short time between her discovery and his order robbed her of the opportunity to develop options to save herself.

          _Which the bastard probably knew all along_, she thought angrily.

Voldemort had the frustrating ability to stay one step ahead of her at every turn. Certainly the night they first fought he had done so, and she was not fool enough to think he had taught her enough about dark magic to pose a threat to him. At least, she wasn't a threat by herself.

          She sighed, the fatigue inundating her as she briefly allowed it free access to her entire body. Voldemort wanted her dead. There was no doubt of that. Her thoughts flashed back to the night she and Grey faced off in Cansbury. Did he mean what he said? Would he try and save her? Would the price be her power?

          As much as she wanted to live, she dreaded the thought of abandoning the comfortable cocoon of her dark magic. She had access to powers the aurors barely dreamed existed; she would almost rather die than surrender them.

          Almost.

          Power did you no good if you were dead. Several ambitious Death Eaters had learned that at her hands. The memory of rib bones snapping like twigs jolted her to her feet. She had no choice, really. She would go to them, help them against Voldemort. After that, she would see about escaping with her power intact.

          Voldemort and Wormtail watched stone-faced as Jess took on a look of determination in the surface of the cauldron. She moved purposefully around the room, gathering her implements of dark magic into a satchel.

          "She's leaving early, Wormtail."

          "As you predicted, my lord."

          "Our forces?"

          "Ready to follow at a moment's notice."

          "We must not give them long. Only enough for her arrival to confuse them. Send word to the castle that the time has come for our surprise."

          Wormtail nodded, adding a good measure of bowing and scraping before scurrying out of the room. Voldemort looked back down to the sorceress in the cauldron, his mouth turning up in a frightening grin.

          "Now, Precious, I will show you a few of those things you were so desperate to learn before. Somehow, I think you will be less eager this time around."

          "Dobby does not think you should be doing that, sir."

          The robed figure spun around, astonished to find someone else in the kitchens. He had been certain the sleeping spell would knock out all of the pesky elves while he did his work on Dumbledore's late night snack.

          "Leave, elf. This be not your problem."

          "Dobby thinks Professor Dumbledore is a great man, and I knows what you is doing." Anger flashed in Dobby's enormous eyes. He knew of the poison theft; Harry Potter had explained it to all of the House Elves in case the assassin went to the kitchens. "Get away!"

          "Why you talk so dumb? Me be never understanding why elves so dumb." The hood swung back and forth as the assassin shook its head. Then a robed arm came up and a burst of wind flung Dobby backwards into the wall.

          The house elf hit the hard stone with a jarring thud; dazed, he quickly began incanting. The wine glass in front of the assassin flew up and smacked into the back of its head, dumping wine all over the dark robe.

          "Ooh, me make you sorry for that." The assassin flipped back his hood, revealing Curly's pink skin and horns. The gigantic eyes were solidly black.

          Dobby quaked with fear, the knowledge of the imp's power spinning through his mind. This one wanted to hurt Professor Dumbledore, though, and probably Harry Potter. Dobby wouldn't let that happen.

          Drawers around the room flew open of their own accord. Dobby reached in with his mind, pulling out dozens of sharp knives and pointing them all at Curly.

          "Leave now." Dobby's squeaky voice failed to sound menacing in the least, but Curly caught the glare in his eyes as he surveyed the flying cutlery.

          When the imp raised his hand to cast, Dobby hurled the knives at him. 

          The storm of blades descended on Curly, slashing viciously at his robes. A mental incantation kept them from gouging his pink skin, frustrating Dobby's efforts at harm. The angry elf let the knives fall and decided to change course.

          Before he could attack again, however, Curly seized the moment. With another gesture, he flipped Dobby up and banged his misshapen head against the ceiling. The woozy elf hung limply in the air, his mind refusing to focus or touch his magical powers. For all the times Dobby has banged his head, he thought fleetingly, Dobby has never felt like this.

          Curly let him drop the ten feet to the hard stone floor. Breath whooshed out of him on impact. The imp twirled his fingers, invoking a strand of yarn-like light that wiggled and moved. With a slight a flick, the strand extended and wrapped around Dobby, binding him in a silent sleep spell that would last for hours. The imp smiled.

          "Me be having fun now."

          Dumbledore looked up as Dobby walked in with his usual tray. He knew Minerva would frown on his choice of snacks, but he had a craving for cherry pie lately that couldn't seem to be satisfied. Tonight's offering smelled no less delicious than the last few.

          "Thank you for bringing it up, Dobby. I know magic is more convenient for you."

          "Dobby is happy to help, sir. Dobby does not want Professor Dumbledore poisoned."

          "Yes, well, I'm not fond of it very much either," the elderly wizard said with a grin. He took the tray from the elf and immediately dug in. "Oh my, as always, Winky has outdone herself. Please tell her I said so."

          "Dobby will do that, sir," the elf said with a smile. He was going to enjoy this even more in a few seconds, he knew. Fortunately, the process wouldn't take long. Speaking like the elf already annoyed him to no end.

          Dumbledore felt the tingle in his stomach when he finished half the pie. He had no illusion about the cause, and as the tingling spread with the poison he glared at the miniature figure in front of him.

          "You, Dobby? You're the … one …" His face contorted as the pain began. His breathing faltered and he clutched his chest. Even as he did so, Curly saw a look of tranquil confidence in Dumbledore's blue eyes.

          "No, Dobby not be the one, you old fool," Curly snarled, dropping the glamour that hid his form. "Me be the one. Dobby be another dumb elf."

          "If … you … harmed …"

          Dumbledore slumped over the desk before he could finish the threat.


	74. Not Without a Fight I: All Along the Wat...

          Somewhere in the void between sleep and wake, Grey heard them enter his room. Without conscious thought he seized the lightsaber from the nightstand and jumped out of bed. The glow from the blade illuminated their shadowed faces.

          He had never seen Giles or McGonagall look as pale as they did then.

          "What is it?" The blade disappeared. Behind him, the only sound in the deathly silent room came from a highly embarrassed Willow hastily disentangling herself from the covers.

          "It's Albus, I'm afraid." McGonagall's voice was scarcely louder than the rustling blankets. "The poison."

          Willow interlaced her fingers with Grey's, watching nervously as Tara and Madam Pomfrey ministered to the unconscious Dumbledore. With his wizardly robes and hat missing, he seemed a tiny, frail old man. He labored for each erratic breath, as if the effort required a recharge before being repeated. His typical rosy glow had disappeared, leaving skin as white and crinkled as old parchment.

          "Oh dear, oh dear," Pomfrey whispered as she ran a cool cloth over his sweating forehead.

          Tara's soft voice backlit the room with low chanting as she worked her magic on the headmaster. The spell would either slow the poison or do nothing, but anything more invasive would risk worse damage.

          "I'm gonna go get Puddles and have a look around," Spike said quietly. If possible, he seemed paler than usual.

          "Good idea," Grey agreed. "Come find me afterwards and we'll do another pass." He glanced at Willow's hand, which would not be relinquishing his anytime soon.

          Spike saw the look and nodded. He disappeared through the door.

          "I had no hint of this," Snape whispered to Giles and McGonagall. The three of them huddled in the corner. "I assumed that if those ingredients were meant for poison I would have," he cast a suspect glance at Willow and lowered his voice further, "heard something before now."

          "Is it possible they know about you?"

          "No." His voice carried utter conviction. "I would be swiftly dead were that to happen, I assure you."

          "Severus, are you suggesting that it could be someone other than You-Know-Who?" McGonagall's pinched gaze met Snape's dark one.

          "It must be him. He's clever enough to know he could not match Albus magically. Not on this campus, at any rate. I had assumed I was his only agent here. It appears I was mistaken." The admission did not come lightly.

          "Will Albus live?" Giles was not acquainted with the ingredients as well as Snape.

          "He should be dead now," Snape said flatly. "Given that he's not, I'd say he has a chance."

          "We'll have to tell the school in the morning," McGonagall said, pushing away the morbid thoughts and impending grief.

          "Why?" Grey and Willow had walked over in time to hear Snape answer Giles' question.

          "What do you mean, why? Of course they'll have to …"

          "It's a mistake," Grey interrupted. "The last thing we need is panic or Ministry interference, which is all that will bring. If anyone asks, we can say he was called away on business."

          "How long will that realistically hold up, Grey?" Willow asked rhetorically.

          He missed the nature of the question. "A few days. Three or four, anyway. Long enough for us to quietly get some additional help."

          "Oh right, because this isn't the first shot in Voldemort's big attack plan and he's not going to bang down our door in a day or so," Willow replied darkly. The other faces looked at her in surprise. "Tell me you guys didn't think of that?"

          Harry's stomach rumbled at the smell of food. Their homework seemed to have tripled as the term dragged on, and he had spent most of Friday night studying alongside Hermione and Ron. Ginny flitted in and out with words of encouragement, but never stayed long enough to be the distraction that Harry craved.

          Things were going well for them. He hadn't realized how alone the Ron/Hermione liaison had him feeling, or how long that he spent by himself, until he began filling his free time with Ginny's companionship. As he entered the hall for Saturday breakfast, he glanced over the nearly empty faculty table and grinned widely at the pair of pretty eyes watching him intently.

          Her gaze followed him from the moment he stepped through the dining hall door. Blood rushed to her pale face as he sat down next to her, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

          "Hey Gin."

          "Hi." She leaned in close to keep the words from her brother's prying ears. "Busy later? Or d'you have no time for some fun with your homework an' all?"

          The tips of Harry's ears reddened. Her tone held no hint of the shyness she had always displayed. He was learning that the girl wasn't really shy at all; quite the opposite, in fact.         

          "'Cos," she went on, "I was thinkin' we could … you know … get a snack or something." She couldn't bring herself to say anything more specific aloud. Even that much innuendo deepened her blush. Her eyes, though, were full of mischief.

          "O-okay," Harry said. He still wasn't entirely comfortable around her newfound daring. 

          She kissed him on the cheek. "Good."

          "Aw, will you two quit it with all this cutesy rubbish? Makes me ill."

          "Ron," Hermione said, stretching his name out slightly in warning.

          "Whot?" His innocent face drew a giggle from Ginny and a head-shake from Harry.

          "Like you don't do stuff that's sickening," Ginny teased her brother. "Oh, 'Mione," she mimicked with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes, "please don't be mad at me…"

          Ron cut her off with a sour glare; the other three laughed uproariously.

          "So, Harry," he said, desperate for a subject change, "any word from … our friend?" He inclined his head towards the Slytherin table. "You met him last night, right?

          "Yeah, but nothin' yet. He told me last night that nobody in Slytherin seemed to have so much as a clue about it. They all know of the theft, of course, because of Snape, but he said everybody knows less than him about it."

          "Maybe it was really somebody tryin' to cheat on their work."

          "We've been through this, Ron," Hermione scolded. "First of all, who would steal from Snape? Nobody is that stupid."

          "We…"

          "Except us," she said. "Besides, that was for a good cause."

          "But if somebody was working with …" Ginny lowered her voice considerably, "You-Know-Who, then why wouldn't he have sent the poison to them directly?"

          Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged stunned looks. Ginny had a point.

          "But with owl post, someone could intercept it," Ron replied.

          "You think he doesn't have secure owls? Or that he couldn't put some spell on the thing to keep it safe?"

          "So you don't think it's for poison?"

          "You know I do, Harry," she answered, "but what I don't know is how we'll find out who has it."

          The conversation cut short as the faculty entered en masse. To a person, they looked haggard and wan. Hermione noticed immediately that neither Dumbledore, Tara, or Madam Pomfrey were among them, and her stomach clenched involuntarily. Something bad was happening. 

Willow detoured from the group. She leaned over and spoke to Hermione in low tones.

          "I need your help this afternoon. Do you remember what we did to Grey's lightsaber before?"

          Hermione nodded; she and Willow had handled most of the research for the spells that had been cast.

          "We need to zap it again."

          "Of course I'll help. Ginny will, too. Why?"

          "It didn't work before. It was too powerful. I want to fix it."

          "But, I mean, why now?"

          Willow's face took on a grim cast. She gestured towards McGonagall, who stood in front of the faculty table. The others stood deferentially behind her as she began to speak.

          "Students, may I have your attention please?" She waited until the normal hubbub of a Saturday breakfast ground slowly into silence. "I fear I have some most unfortunate news. Professor Dumbledore has taken ill. We are hopeful, of course, that he will recover, but we feel strongly that it is our duty to inform you that he may not. He would not have wished us to deceive you." 

          All the lingering whispers and noise flitting around the room halted instantly. Harry gasped; his friends eyes had all gone wide and Hermione's mouth opened in a silent 'o'. Ron realized that they had failed miserably; Dumbledore had been poisoned. Bile rose in his throat and he had the sudden urge to vomit.

          "For the time being, I will act as Headmaster in his place. Please direct to me any concerns which ordinarily would have gone to him. Professor Giles will be standing in for me as the Head of Gryffindor house. Once again," she looked over to her house table, "any concerns that might have come my way before, please take to him."

          "I know," she went on, "that many of you have questions that at this time we cannot answer. Professor Dumbledore is resting comfortably in the infirmary – we would ask that you not disturb him, and that if you find a trip to the infirmary necessary that you be as considerate as possible of his condition. Now, I suggest everyone finish their breakfast and go about your business as you normally would. Professor Dumbledore would certainly not have it any other way.

          The rest of breakfast was eaten in total silence.

          The swirling blue light faded as Willow finished the working the new spell on the disc. She held it at arm's length and looked the carving over once more. It seemed undamaged.   

          "That went pretty well, don't you think?"

          Tara smiled, shaking her head at Willow. Hermione and Ginny snickered, feeling their grief and guilt lift for the first time all day. Soot and burn marks from the magic marred the roof around them; Tara's and Willow's robes were askew, and their hair had taken on a decided Don King look. 

          They lay on their backs silently for a few moments, each feeling drained by the effort and none of them capable of rising. Hermione and Ginny had never actively taken part in such a powerful spell before, and they were amazed at how it drained them.

          Willow recovered first. She heaved her sapped arms off of the ground and snapped the disc onto the end of the sword handle. She had felt things work differently this time. Instead of boosting the whole enchantment, they had increased the power of the blade and added a 'swift kick in the ass,' as she called it (to the other girls' great delight), to the speed of whoever wielded it.

          "Whatever you say, Will," Tara replied when she had the energy to speak again.

          "Quite the show," another voice said, accompanied by a light thump on the rooftop. "I don't think I could've done much better. And that's saying something, believe me." The speaker had watched the light show from the air, admiring how the redhead easily manipulated the whorls of energy. The girl had talent, that was for sure.

          The silk of the purple dress swirled among the air currents, bobbing and weaving with the light breeze. Jess crossed her arms in front of her chest and locked her fierce black eyes on Willow.

          "A'course, we could find out. How 'bout it, Red? You game?"


	75. Not Without a Fight II: Black and White

          The world tilted crazily when the witch landed in front of them. Fear clutched at the hearts of the two students as they desperately looked to Willow for help.

          "Run!" Willow yelled to them. She struggled to her feet, the aftereffects of the spells making her dizzy.

          Behind her, Tara started a soft chant, coaxing out what little power she could from her wasted frame. Hermione and Ginny shook off their fatigue and jumped to their feet; in seconds they were across the roof and back in the building.

          Jess watched them go, then turned back to Willow.

          "I'm really not, though," she went on with a sharp smile. "To be honest, I think we need to talk."

          "You're not here to fight? I believe you. Really, I do," Willow replied. 

She reached past the fatigue and into the mental abyss that held her power, drawing it forth and pumping pure dark magic into her veins. Her eyes blackened and she lifted off the roof. The power scoured away the weakness, replacing it with the euphoria of the magic high. It gave Willow a heavenly lift, and she was lucid enough to truly enjoy it for the first time in a long while.

She felt the talisman around her neck heating but didn't noticed that it glowed white. All she could think of was how much more fun it made this experience. And how she could finally unleash herself against someone who deserved it.

          "Look, I don't know what …"

          The energy poured from Willow's mouth, a rushing black river with electric purple eddies that caught Jess in the midsection. The force drove her to the ground; a second volley arced at her, but she waved her flattened palm in a 'wax-on' motion and diverted the strike.

          "I'm here to talk, Red. But if you want to go a few rounds to feel better …" A white tendril of electricity snaked across the roof and burned her leg. Jess jumped back, thoroughly infuriated now. Why won't the dumb bitch listen to me? _Because you tried to kill them_, an exasperated voice whispered in the back of her head. Jess ignored it and soaked herself in power and rage. A low humming filled the air between them.

          Off to the side, Tara continued to chant, encasing herself in a protective sphere. She tried to extend it to Willow, but scarcely had the energy to maintain what she had.

          "Burn." A massive fireball spewed from Willow's hands; Jess lifted her arm and caught it on her left hand, holding above her head like an enormous beach ball.

          With the greatest of ease, she flicked it back towards Willow.

          The flames roiled as they sped at her, promising instant incineration until Willow dissolved them with a look.

          "You're jus' tossin' power at me, girl. No subtlety. No art. Just power." Jess gave an exaggerated toss of her head. "Pathetic. Power won't do shit for you if you can't use it right."

          As if to show Willow her exact meaning, a pale gray mist sprung up over the rooftop. Tara's stomach twisted as she saw the mist billow up from nothing, then close in to encircle Willow. Restrained by the protective shield, it had no effect on Tara, but her former lover began to choke and writhe as the cloud engulfed her.

          The world of air closed to Willow the moment she inhaled the first bit of smoke. It wrapped itself around her, clinging like wet clothes to her thin form. Everywhere it touched her felt dirty, as if she would have to shower for days to scrape the grime from her skin. Her lungs tried futilely to reject the smoke as it burned into her chest. Another minute or two and Willow feared she might be left completely hollowed out.

          "See, Red? Nothin' to it, really. Just a little imagination is all. Not that you have a chance now," Jess added as Willow crumpled to the ground, "but use it for future reference."

          Anger boiled up inside Tara, riding her natural urge to protect Willow and fueling her response. Her own power coursed through her veins like never before and her fatigue vanished in a heartbeat; she suddenly understood a little of what Willow felt when her eyes turned black. The power could be intoxicating. Unlike Willow's magic, though, Tara's burned inside, ordering her to release it or risk serious damage to herself.

          Jess felt Tara's surge off to the side, but had no time to react.

          "DISPERSE." Tara shouted, her voice pregnant with magic. The vapor drained silently off into the air around them. Willow felt the dirty feeling recede and fell back to the rooftop. "BREATHE," Tara intoned. The debilitating residue in Willow's lungs vanished and the redhead rolled over. Her breath returned in huge heaving gasps and coughs.

          "Wow." The word came out involuntarily under her breath; Jess had never seen anyone end any of her spells forcibly before. She had no idea the blonde had that kind of power. From the wide-eyed look on Willow's face, the redhead hadn't either.

          Tara heard the exclamation and turned to her. Her eyes were solid white.

          "_Bind," Tara growled. A silvery ball flew from her open palms. Jess hurriedly summoned power to deflect the damage, but she had no chance. The ball stopped short of her and expanded in all directions. In seconds, Tara had encased her in a transparent cage. Jess felt her power disappear, stifled by her new prison._

          Willow turned her still-black eyes on the bound sorceress, an evil smile sliding across her pale visage. She thought of the scars on Grey's chest, a pink grid that she had traced so many times with her lips and fingers. She recalled all the nights that he had crept from their bed, thinking her still asleep, to sit in front of the fire and weep. She remembered his battered and bruised face in the hospital bed after Halloween, and that pushed her over the edge. The incantation came in a whisper.

          Breathless, Hermione and Ginny burst into Giles' classroom. Despite the fact that it was Saturday, the Watcher sat at his desk surrounded by a pile of ungraded papers. He had been staring at them for an hour, wondering, now that Albus was out of the game, how long it would be before Voldemort attacked them.

          After it was all over, he would look back and wonder how he became such a lightning rod for irony.

          "Giles!" Hermione cried. "You have to help!"

          "Hermione, do try to breathe first, then tell me what has you running about the castle." At the sight of the two flustered girls, he stood from his chair and came around to the front of the desk.

          "It's Jess. She's here, on the roof, fighting Willow and Tara. Please, you must hurry!"

          The blood drained from Giles' face and he took off for the door.

          "Both of you back to your common room, right now," he ordered over his shoulder as he vanished into the hallway.

          Spike had nodded off for a brief nap in the middle of the afternoon. Late night patrolling and an extra sweep to check his weapons caches had left him dead tired.

          The darkness of his dungeon never bothered him. He could see well enough in it, and the impossibility of windows made for a built-in safety precaution. When he woke on Saturday afternoon, though, his stomach growled for blood and the rest of his body for nicotine. Along with the darkness, it was quite disorienting.

          He stumbled from his bed, tripping on his boots and swearing several oaths not meant for the tender ears of children. After ten minutes of fumbling, he was finally mostly dressed and had a lit cigarette in hand. The icebox, unfortunately, was quite bare of blood, meaning he would have to make a short detour to the kitchens before heading out to find the Jedi. 

          Sirius was in the midst of reaching for the doorknob when Spike pulled it open. He was dressed in ratty black robes and dark patches under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep.

          "Puddles, so nice to see ya. Seem to be all out of Scooby snacks, though."

          "Ha fucking ha, Fangless. Listen, we got trouble, I think."

          "What kind?"

          "Not sure. Saw everybody go running for the roof a few minutes ago, thought I'd come find you for look."

          "Well, isn't that jolly?"

          Sirius growled.

          "Keep yer pants on, Lassie. I need to make a quick stop at the kitchens, then we'll go look for nasties."

          They walked the two hundred feet to the main kitchen area in silence. The sight that greeted them inside caused a pair of gasps. Tables had been overturned, cutlery littered the entire floor, and a house elf lay unconscious in the center of the chaos. 

          "What the hell?"

          "Somebody desperate for a late night snack," Sirius quipped absently, his eyes scanning the dark kitchen for any sign of trouble.

          "Well, don't just stand there – let's wake him up and find out what the hell happened."

          Black blades of energy appeared in the air before Willow, gathering strength while they hovered. The eerie black light pulsed slowly, shadowing the sky around them. Jess gulped in oxygen, knowing the fate she would soon meet and cursing her temper for fighting the girl instead of talking.

          A streak of white light obliterated the knives before they could move an inch. Tara stepped between the women.

          "No, Willow," she said, her voice low and confident.

          "Tara, get out of the way." The words had an otherworldly cast. "I have more power than her. You can't stop me. You don't want to. She's done things to him …"

          Tara remembered Dumbledore's words in Cansbury, mentally offering a prayer for a fraction of his strength.

          "I know, sweetie, but this isn't the way. What will Grey say if you do this? If you torture her like she did him? Then won't he have lost you, too? And make no mistake, you'll have to go through me first to do it, anyway." 

          Willow's breath stopped short at how deadly serious Tara was. The conviction in her tone brought Willow's mind back to the night they had split up. Could she do it? Was vengeance on Jess worth this? Her resolve slowly started to falter.

          "She just wanted to talk, Willow. Not fight. That's what she said – we should hear her out."

          "Why?"

          "Because she wouldn't show up here and say that without good reason," said a third voice from across the roof. "She would have killed you before you even knew she was here, or waited until she could do it in front of me."

          Grey strode purposefully across the field of slate, snatching up his fallen lightsaber as he went; Giles and McGonagall trailed behind him, the latter with her wand at the ready. The Jedi took a place next to Tara and stared into his lover's obsidian eyes.

          "I don't want her hurt, Willow."

          Willow closed her eyes, forcing the anger and magic out of her mind. She reached up and fingered the glowing medallion around her neck. The touch of the warm wood comforted her, and when she looked back at him, tears dribbled from green eyes.

          "I-I'm sorry, Grey. I didn't mean to … the magic was … and the fireball, and the chokey smoke and then the white …"

          He crouched in front of her, tenderly placing a hand on her face.

          "It's okay. I know. It's okay." He repeated it tenderly again and again, gathering her into a long hug. When it ended, he lifted her to her feet. McGonagall and Giles took her from his arms, giving her quiet words of encouragement as they steadied her.

          Grey turned to Tara, watching the scene with a look of sadness on her face. "Thank you," he said, embracing her warmly. 

          "Y-y-you're welcome," she said, the tension of the moment leaking through now that it had concluded.

          "Your eyes were all white." They had reverted to blue while he had been hugging Willow.

          "R-really? Th-that never happened before."

          "You've probably never been that juiced, hon. Sure and this is one hell of a cage." Jess was still rooted to the ground, unable to move or cast spells. Grey disengaged from Tara and closed on her, stopping only when he felt the tingle of the magic prison. He ignited the lightsaber, feeling the stronger magic pulse through him.

          "Let her out, Tara." The tingle disappeared, and he lifted the sword to her throat. The heat from it tickled the soft skin of her neck. "Tell me why, and don't bother with a lie. You know I'll hear it."

          "Voldemort wants me dead. It's been awhile since I danced to his tune, and he's a bit honked off about it. I need help so that I'm not the one who ends up in a morgue. Pretty simple, really, and besides, hon, you offered." She smirked at him, as if was the most obvious thing in the world. Her insides, though, had turned gooey with tension, and they both knew it.

          He peered into her black eyes for a moment, hating that he couldn't read them. The green ones had always spoken to him, explained what she was thinking and feeling. He could feel the fear in her voice, though, and see the tension in the bearing of her neck and shoulders.

          The blue blade vanished as his thumb hit the trigger.

          "We'll talk. But there are rules." She nodded for him to continue. "You go where we say. You don't use magic unless we're attacked. And you tell us everything we want to know."

          "Can we get on with it, then," she said, annoyed, "because we don't have too long before the Dark Lord finds out I'm gone and guesses where I've gone to."


	76. Not Without a Fight III: Lovers

          "So that's it? We sit here? Again? Do we ever do our own fightin' anymore?"

          "Ron, you didn't see her up there. We can't do anything against her, and Professor Giles said …"

          Ron raised his voice another notch, his terror manifesting as anger. "Hermione, I know damn well what he said. You told us a dozen bleedin' times!"

          "Well, what should we do then? Run up there and get ourselves flayed by dark magic?" Her own yelling drowned him out. "That sounds like a fantastic idea!"

Ginny made a 'cover-your-ears' motion to Harry, who shook his head in disgust. None of them were going anywhere, but Ron and Hermione had managed to devolve the discussion process into another explosion of tempers. Harry and Ginny had already reasoned out that if the woman was here to fight, she would have brought an army of Death Eaters with her.

"Listen, 'Mione, I know …"

"That will be quite enough, Mister Weasley," Professor McGonagall's pinched voice scolded as she walked through the door. "None of you will be going anywhere, and that is quite final."

          As she finished, a loud crash shook the room and drowned out Ron's angry response. The Gryffindors watched in horror when Harry fell to his knees, both hands clutching his scar as he screamed in pain.

Sirius and Spike closed the distance to the prone elf quickly. A few shakes from Spike brought him awake.

          "Hey! Dobby, wake up!"

          "Erm… uh … M-master Spike? What is Dobby doing … Oh no!"

          "Dobby, what happened?" Spike asked. Sirius had changed to dog form to avoid recognition. 

          "Professor Dumbledore, he's … oh Dobby! Dobby failed him!" The elf smashed his head forcefully against the floor. "Dobby is weak and foolish!" Another impact. "What has I done?" His big eyes filled with tears as he looked imploringly at Spike. "Is the great Professor being hurt?"

          "Dumbledore?" Dobby nodded. "Well, he's …" Spike glanced at Sirius, but the dog stayed motionless. "He's been poisoned."

          "Oh!" Dobby sucked in a huge breath, his rail thin fingers covering his mouth. His head thudded into the ground over and over again until Spike grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him into the air.

          "Will you quit that shit, mate? What the hell could you have done to stop it?"

          Dobby broke down and sobbed, haltingly explaining about his fight with Curly.

          "Listen, Dobby," Spike said when the elf had finished. He felt ridiculous talking to a tiny creature with a soccer ball for a head, but he needed Dobby to calm down and tell them everything. "He's not dead yet, so save the whinin' and the cryin' for if he does. We've got bigger problems now." Like finding that damn imp.

          "Bigger?"

          "Yes, bigger. We think Voldemort is coming here now that Dumbledore's taken his lumps." 

At the mention of Voldemort's name, Dobby scowled deeply and his self-pity vanished.

"He wants to hurt Harry Potter."

"Well … yeah."

"Dobby will not let him."

The elf, a look of terrible anger in his eyes, snapped his fingers and disappeared.

"Well, that was pleasant," Spike said as Sirius morphed into human form. "Ever wonder how he does that, with no apparatin' here an' all?" 

Before the conversation could continue, the blast reverberated in the cavernous room and drove Spike and Sirius to their knees.

          "I don't like it. I'm not leaving." Willow's resolve face was firmly in place, though it was paler than usual. Her arms and legs felt leaden and she wanted a nap badly enough to cry for it, but she wouldn't leave the two of them alone. Giles stood behind her, propping her up against his chest.

          "Agreed," Giles said, despite his concern for Willow. "It's far too dangerous, especially with Albus incapacitated." 

          They stood in the midst of the empty dining hall, with Grey and Tara once again separating Jess from the other two.

          "I-I'll stay with them," Tara suggested. "Will, you're too tired. If something does happen …"

          "Nothing will happen," Jess broke in. Everyone but Grey glared at her.

          "It will be to me," Grey added, ignoring his ex-fiancee. "Which is how it should be. The rest of you need to prepare for Voldemort. We need to get this place locked down." He turned to Willow, taking her hand and stroking it with his thumb. "Will, you need to rest. I'll be fine."

          "See the face? You know what it …" 

          "I know what it means," he cut her off. "I respect it. I do. But you don't have any resolve left to back it up with. You're ready to drop."

          "If Tara stays, that would be acceptable to me," Giles said. "Willow, you will not be a great deal of help in your current condition."

          The redhead glowered, looking from Grey to Giles to Tara.

          "I'll protect him, Will," Tara said.

          After a long pause, Willow finally nodded. She gathered herself and pushed off from Giles. A dozen rapid steps put her nose to nose with Jess. 

          Her eyes flashed black as she spoke.

          "You hurt him again, and … well, I can't even think of anything threatening enough to say. But I'm sure I'll find lots to do."

           Jess nodded slowly, not speaking for fear that her voice would crack. Despite the childish phrasing, menace radiated off the redhead in thick waves and her tone would have frightened Death himself. She wondered if the girl had any idea how much power she truly possessed.

          Willow spun to embrace Grey, but ended up stumbling and falling into his arms. He kissed her lightly. "Get some rest."

          She paused, conflicting thoughts launching a full-scale war in her head. What the hell, he could very well die before I see him again, right?

          "I love you."

          She walked away, leaving Grey gaping at her retreating back.

          "That was a very brave thing you just did," Giles said once they were alone in the hallway.

          "Tara will keep him safe." She wobbled a little as they traversed the halls.

          "You know that was not what I meant."

          "I know." She stopped, leaning against the wall for support. All of her fears – for her heart, for his health, for the two of them – flooded her mind. Tears formed behind her eyes as she thought of them together. "I do love him, Giles. I didn't want to leave them alone without him knowing."

          "As I said, it was a very brave thing. In all respects."

          "I didn't want to … to trap him into staying with me, but with her here … she wants him back …"

          The Watcher broke in abruptly, interrupting her babbling.

          "You will listen to me very carefully now, Willow." Giles' paternal tone resonated in the stone corridor. "I have kept my distance from this, knowing what was going on and how much it must have torn you apart to help him as you have. I knew I could never dissuade you. Helping people … it's what you do, and it makes you very special, but I feared this time how much it could cost you. I was wrong in that fear. You could not see his eyes once you turned your back."

          "He loves you. Never doubt it. Not for an instant. I imagine that he will tell you as much, as soon as he figures it out."

          Willow watched him for a long second.

          "You think?"

          His smile had the familiar, reassuring cast that she had seen for years.

          "Yes, Willow, I think. Now come, let's …"

          The sound of the impact slammed into their ears as it drove dust from the walls.

          Five minutes after Giles led her out, Grey was still watching the door in silence. No one had spoken since Willow said it.

          "She loves me," he whispered.

          Jess felt her heart breaking as she heard the words. He loved the girl, too. She had no doubts now. Instead of anger, it filled her with a sense of bottomless loss. The blonde, Tara, was looking right at her as her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Jess wondered why it surprised her so much; in Cansbury, his feelings for the girl had been made plenty clear.

          Tara saw surprise change to acceptance in the girl's green eyes. The sadness seemed to ooze from her, and despite her villainous nature Tara felt a rush of pity. Even though she had chosen not to be with Willow, it had still hurt to see her with Grey. Jess' pain had to be a thousand times worse. 

          Tara put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

          Jess' façade slipped away for a fraction of a second, stunned by the empathetic gesture. "I lost him. I really lost him. I never thought …" She stopped as Grey finally turned around, hurriedly resuming her haughty, dark sorceress posture as she railed against the empty feeling in her stomach.

          He shuttered his confusion and wonder away, putting on his impassive mask to face Jess. Grey was not blind, though. He caught the tiny flicker of heartbreak in her green eyes and chose to ignore it. They had more pressing matters.

          Tara quickly removed her hand.

          "You wanted to talk," Grey said calmly. "Talk."

          "That's it? Nothing else? Don't want to rub it in my face about your little firecracker?"

          "No," he said simply. He knew her way of dealing with hurt would be to bait him into an argument, and he wouldn't do it. Not now.

          "Fine." She let it go. There would be time for that later, when they weren't the hunted. And she didn't know if she could bear to hear the truth spoken aloud. "What do you want to know, then?"

          "Why are you here?"

          "I told you. He wants me dead."

          "And you thought we would protect you?"

          "No. I thought you would," she answered. "The rest of them can help us stop him. Sure and he's comin' here anyway. That was his plan, to lead his forces out here with me in the van, then let us fight it out. He'd step in and finish off the winner."

          Grey nodded. "With Dumbledore down for the count…" He saw the question in her eyes before she could ask it. "Poison. He's in a coma. He'll probably heal, but Madame Pomfrey said it would take time. With him out, chances are either you or Willow would kill the other. It makes sense, in a predictable way."

          "He's got a hell of a diverse army," she said, anticipating his next question. "Death Eaters, but also vampires, giants, hellhounds. The whole bleedin' spectrum."

          "When you say army …"

          "Not like you're thinkin'. These are just token forces sent by his allies. But we aren't exactly legion here, David," she said pointedly. "Wouldn't take much to overwhelm us."

          "You have a plan?"

          She smiled mischievously, the familiar look tugging at his heart. "Nope. You're the brains, I'm the muscle, remember?" More seriously, she went on, "I was hoping you had a plan in place for this sort of thing."

          "Not really."

          "Well, isn't that…"

          The thunderous concussion of the doors exploding inward obliterated the rest of her sentence.


	77. Not Without a Fight IV: And They're Off

          "She locked us in. I can't bloody believe it."

          Ron yanked on the spelled door one more time for emphasis. The wooden planks refused to budge.

          "This is very bad, Harry," Hermione said from in front of the fireplace. She was huddled over the Marauder's Map with Neville, Ginny, and Harry, who could still feel the low buzzing pain in his scar. No vision had accompanied it, but the evening's danger was plain to see. On the map, unfamiliar names swarmed like ants in the courtyard outside of the dining hall. "He must have brought his entire force."

          "Should we maybe just stay here?" Neville offered.

          "We can't," Ginny answered. Her tiny, freckled face screwed up in concentration. "They won't have enough firepower without Dumbledore or Snape."

          "Even that oily bastard can see that they need all hands, Gin," Ron said.

          "He can't," she countered. "How's he going to spy on Voldemort's side if he attacks them here? Don't you see? Same thing with Malfoy." Her brother pondered that for a few seconds, then nodded. "It's dangerous, but …"

          "It's Voldemort," Harry finished, his face a portrait of anger. "We fight." The wraithlike forms of his parents' spirits floated in his mind's eye, along with the broken body of Cedric Diggory. "First, though, we have to get out of here. Any ideas?"

          "We could try the _alohamora_ spell on the door."

"Will it work, 'Mione?"

"No idea, Ron," she said. "Maybe if we all try it together?"

Heads nodded around the room. All five of them drew their wands.

"Count of three?" Harry asked. They nodded. "1…2…3…_Alohamora_!"

The spell shot from five wands at once, simultaneously hitting the locking mechanism in the center of the doorway. Nothing happened.

"Bugger!"

"Ron!"

"Sorry, 'Mione, but … Brooms!" Ron exclaimed. As quickly as the idea popped up, though, he shot it down with a frown. "Oh, no, we couldn't carry anyone else, I s'pose."

"You be needing a way out?" The shrill voice came from the window of the common room. Curly stood in the open window, a dark cloak flapping around his cherubic form. Cold air tickled their exposed skin as it filtered past him. "Bad people be here. Many bad peoples. Me can help you get down."

Five pairs of eyes skittered back and forth.

"Guess we don't have another choice," Harry said.

Ron looked at Harry nervously. "The imp express it is."

They hastened to the window, but just as Curly was about to take Harry's hand, the doors burst open and banged loudly against the wall.

"Harry Potter should not do that," Dobby said from the archway. Though bruises covered his face and one humongous eye had swollen shut, his voice squeaked out as angry as Harry and Ron had ever heard it. "Dobby will not let him hurt Harry Potter like he hurt Professor Dumbledore."

          "That noise came from below us."

          "The dining hall?"

          Willow nodded. "I'll go down there. Do you think she …" Her voice trailed off, thinking of what Jess might have done to Grey to cause that sort of damage.

          A mixture of pity and alarm crossed Giles' face. "You're in no shape to engage her."

          The thought that she hadn't killed Jess when she had the chance angered her almost beyond the possibility of speech. "Giles, we don't have a choice. What, I'm gonna go all napping while the Big Bad is here? I don't think so." 

          She summoned what little magic hadn't already risen in anger. Her eyes went black and she reached up to grip her the pendant around her neck. It scorched her palm as she clasped it in a fist.

"That bitch dies this time." She ripped the pendant free and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans.

"Please, Willow, try to get ahold of yourself," he said nervously as he watched the magic and rage take control of her.

"Actually, Giles, I think now is the perfect time for angry Willow to come out and play." Her voice deepened with menace. "Don't get in my way."

          "I'll go with you," he said, signalling his acquiescence.

          "No," she ordered, placing a restraining hand on his chest. "Go get the other professors from the dorms. We'll need Spike and Sirius, too."

          "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

          With black eyes, her resolve face was frightening to behold. 

"Giles, go. Now."

          He nodded once and took off down the hallway. She inhaled deeply and headed in the other direction.

          "Holy shit," Jess muttered.

          The two giants lingered outside the crushed doors, the outlines of their massive forms dimly visible in the settling dust. Cool night air spilled from the ruptured hallway into the dining hall. The yipping and snarling of hellhounds punctuated the low growls and ominous chanting of Voldemort's followers.

          She heard the _snap-hiss_ as Grey brought out his lightsaber and felt the oily swirl of magic forming around Tara.

          From behind the giants, a sinister voice bellowed forth.

          "Come out now, Precious, and we'll make it quick. Linger, and it will be most unpleasant for you and the auror."

          The three occupants of the dining hall traded a look. If Voldemort thought they would succumb that easily, he was in for a long night.

          "Can I use my magic now?" Jess asked sarcastically.

          Grey suddenly turned and flashed her a cocky grin. "We're paying you, aren't we?"

The smile came to her lips unbidden; they were outnumbered and outgunned, and he was quoting old muggle movies at her. Just like old times. 

"You can keep the five bucks. I've had it."

          She called forth a set of her energy knives, letting them float in the air in front of her.

          "What spell is that, anyway?"

          "Daggers of Diphthis. Damn nasty, as you know. I'm sorry for that, by the way." She was stunned to realize that she meant it.

          "We'll discuss it later," he said, wondering how much of the evil she had already purged from her system. _Well, I always knew she was special_, he thought fleetingly.

          A pair of hellhounds broke away from the rest, charging through the gaping hole at the trio. They were larger than normal dogs, each easily six feet long and weighing close to five hundred pounds of solid muscle. Their tan hides had a sparse, patchy covering of dark hair, most of it growing from their triangular faces.

          "This one's me," Grey said before Jess or Tara could react. He stepped between the hounds and the women, casually twirling the lightsaber in his right hand. He felt the renewed magic of his sword course through him as the peaceful focus of battle came on. In the face of overwhelming odds and certain death, he felt strangely exulted; Willow loved him, he had Jess back by his side, and Voldemort, who had caused them so much pain in the last year, was finally within reach for a serious smackdown.

          If not for the potential for violent death, life would have been good.

          The first hellhound, six-inch fangs glistening in the moonlight, leapt effortlessly into the air, its jaws questing for his bald head. Grey, feeling the attack coming before the hellhound even left the ground, slid to his knees and ducked under it. As it flew over, the blue blade gutted it like a fish. The carcass crashed unmoving to the floor as the coppery smell of burning blood filled the air.

          The second beast, seeing Grey drop to its level, stayed earthbound and barreled straight into him before he could bring the lightsaber back down. In an instant, it lay on top of him, dripping drool onto his blue sweatshirt.

          Undeterred, he slammed the hilt of the lightsaber into the side of its head. The beast grunted and stumbled, easing the pressure on his chest. The fleeting respite wasn't enough; Grey couldn't wiggle free, and those saliva-coated teeth moved back in for the kill.

          With a flick of his wrist, the blade severed the beast's spine. The triangular head lolled forward, then dropped to his chest. From the side, the black blades tore into it, freeing him of the dead weight with a pair of deep slashes. The pained howling erupting from its throat slowed to whimpering and finally ceased as the beast died. Grey shoved it off and scrambled to his feet.

          "Thanks," he said, his eyes meeting her smirking gaze. "What, like you never plowed ahead without waiting for me?"

          "Yeah, but I always won when I did." He frowned. "Just kiddin', hon."

          "Umm … g-guys? Could we banter less and maybe fight more?" Tara said as four more hellhounds entered the room.

Giles rounded the corner at full speed, blundering directly into Spike's path. The Watcher bounced off, but the vampire caught him before he could topple over.

"'Ey hey, watch it, there, Rupes. Time to get the glasses checked again."

"What? Oh, er, right, thank you," Giles said as he regained his balance. He drew in breaths in rapid huffs. "Listen to me," he said after a brief pause, "we have no time for games right now."

"Reckon we don't," the vampire agreed. "What's all that racket? Sounded like one of the towers collapsed or somethin'."

"I don't know what it was. Willow went to investigate – it seemed to be coming from the dining hall, which is where we left Grey, Tara, and Miss O'Brien."

Hearing that, Sirius came around the corner and shed his dog guise.

"O'Brien's here?"

Giles nodded. "Yes. It appears that she split with Voldemort, and that she is here for our help. Or it did, at any rate."

"Unless that was the sound of her dukin' it out with her former honey," Spike added.

"Indeed," Giles said, "which is why I have come to get the two of you."

"You say Red's gone down there first?"

"Yes." Giles thought about the look on her face when she left. "She's rather out of control, as you might expect."

"No shit," Spike said. "Come on, we need to get up there." He strode into the hallway. "Not that we'll be able to do much except mop up the remains," he muttered under his breath.

"We need some weapons," Sirius said.

"Not a problem. Got 'em stashed everywhere, including behind a painting in the main stairwell, which," Spike glanced up and down the corridor, getting his bearings, "would be down this way."

He led them down the hall, past several sets of armor and a dozen closed doors. As they stepped through the archway that led to the main stairwell, a low growl echoed through the shaft.

"It's McGonagall," Spike said, his vampiric eyesight picking out the movement instantly. He pointed to the staircase two floors above them.

Professor McGonagall had her wand out as she retreated hastily backwards down the stairs. Looming above her was the something none of them had ever seen.

"M-my god," Giles stammered. "Is that a … minotaur? Are they real?"

"Looks like it, Watcher," Spike responded. "Thought they were extinct, though. She'll need help – Angelus tole me once that they were resistant to spells and the like."

Above them, McGonagall was finding that out for herself. Her stomach clenched in fear; she had already launched to fireballs at it without effect. The minotaur had wild eyes, like an enraged bull, and the way it kept snorting and tossing its head, she knew it was about to charge.

"CORUSCO FULGURIS!" The spell was the deadliest she knew; a bright flash erupted from the end of her wand, momentarily blinding the three men below. A bright stream of light followed it, twisting through the air like a white-hot corkscrew. When the light connected with the minotaur's chest, a brief sizzle gave her some hope. Then the blast winked out, and the minotaur let out a deep roar of triumph.

At the base of the stairs, a painting of an elderly wizard oof'ed as Spike pulled it aside. Sitting in a neatly organized cubbyhole were a pair of swords, a crossbow with two dozen bolts, and a giant double-bladed battle axe. The vampire grabbed the axe, gave it a short test swing, and started up the stairs for McGonagall.

The minotaur lowered its head. McGonagall knew she could never run away in time; the beast would easily gore her on its huge horns before she had gone ten feet. Feeling the sweat and fear trickle down the line of her spine, she reacted on instinct. Two backwards steps placed her on the platform for the floor below the minotaur.

"EXCURRERE!" More ropes of white light slid from her wand, but these went nowehre near the minotaur. Instead, they rapidly lengthened and entwined themselves around the railings of the stairwell. They spread swiftly, reaching both the top and bottom of the shaft in seconds; when they linked to the ceiling and the ground, a vast column of white light filled the shaft.

All of the stairwells suddenly moved of their own accord, each floor separating from the ones above and below and spinning through the air at varying speeds. The ancient defensive measure, known only to her and Dumbledore, worked perfectly. The minotaur charged after her as soon as she said the words, but had to grab ahold of the bannister to avoid falling into empty air.

"Bloody hell!" Spike shouted, catching McGonagall's attention for the first time as he stumbled and fell to his knees. Fortunately, he was in the middle of a flight of stairs when the spell went off, preventing a nasty fall.

Unfortunately, trapped on his own flight of stairs, Spike could do nothing but watch as the minotaur leapt from its own platform onto hers.


	78. Not Without a Fight V: Bad to Worse

          A low chuckle burbled from Voldemort's throat as he watched his minions harry the auror and his two witches. Skilled as they were, the three of them were obviously tiring and had made only a slight dent in his forces.

          "Lucius," he said calmly, his crimson eyes never leaving the battle. He felt Malfoy slide up next to him.

          "Yes, my lord?"

          "Take Finneran and his group inside and bring me the Potter boy. I wish to make this trip as worthwhile as I can."

          "Should I kill him?"

          Voldemort pondered the question for a moment before answering.

          "No. I think I would like to do it myself. The whelp is a brave one; he deserves that, at least."

          "As you wish, my lord."

          Lucius sank briefly to one knee, then moved away to gather the necessary assistance.

          "They've got fight in them," Wormtail commented after they watched the battle rage for a few more minutes.

          "Indeed," Voldemort agreed. "Most unfortunate that they could not be coaxed to join us permanently. Precious is made of sterner stuff than I ever imagined. No matter though," he said dismissively. "They're nearly dead anyway."

          One hundred yards away, sweat rolled down Grey's arms and over his hands, forcing him to concentrate on gripping the slick handle of his lightsaber. The blade whipped back and forth among his enemies, blocking curses as they came near or disemboweling vampires who ventured too close.

          They were vastly outnumbered. The weight of the attack had forced them from the dining hall into the courtyard. Behind him, Tara was doing her best to counter the magic hurled at them by Voldemort's Death Eaters and free him and Jess to clear the other hazards. Vampires and hellhounds buzzed around them like flies; he had long since given up trying to figure out how many. A pair of giants waited just beyond the fighting, anxious for the command to join the fray.

          Beside him, Jess tossed offensive spells as quickly as she could get out the incantations. Those vampires that didn't freeze or burn to death were cut to ribbons or knocked away by powerful gusts of wind. It wasn't enough, though. She knew it. Grey knew it. Tara, who stood exhausted between them, knew it as well.

          "We're gonna buy it in another minute or two," she called hoarsely to Grey. 

          "Open to suggestions, Jessica," he replied as he kicked a diminutive vampire in the face. A follow-up slash created a satisfying pile of dust.

          A flashbulb went off in her brain as she risked a glance at Tara, who frantically tried to bolster the wall of anti-magic she had erected to keep the Death Eater curses at bay.

          "I've got an idea. Keep 'em off me for two minutes, a'right?"

          "Sure. Two minutes," he said, more to himself than to her. "After you said we'd be dead in one. What could go wrong with that plan?"

          The rhetorical commentary died after that, replaced by a series of gasps and grunts. Three vampires, two in front of Grey and one on the far side of Jess and Tara, moved in for the kill. They all had spiky, multi-colored hair and wore leather vests without shirts, revealing the green and red tattoos of former Yakuza soldiers. All three of them moved like warriors, sleek and feline.

Tara was dimly aware of Grey attacking the three vampires. She had been able to maintain the mystical barrier for nearly a quarter of an hour, but each spell that hammered into it drained more of her already taxed reserves, and their were a score of Death Eaters working for the other side. Dark bags had formed under her eyes; all of her energy not devoted to the spell was going into the hefty task of staying conscious. Voldemort, fortunately, had not engaged them. She knew his entry would quicky tip the balance.

          Another volley landed hard on her wall, the spells glowing with every color of the rainbow. The shield held, but the pain of the impact drove Tara to her knees. She barely felt the steadying hand appear on her shoulder.

          "Hang on there, blondie, that's a good girl," Jess said softly, her Irish accent bending the reassuring words. She let some of her energy flow across to the other witch and felt Tara stiffen from the exchange. "I just need about thirty more seconds. Can ya give me that?"

Buzzing from the power injection, Tara nodded. Her whole body had sparked when the girl's power touched her. She focused once more on the defenses, bracing for another round of spells.

          Mindful of exposing the girls, Grey waited for the vamps to come to him. The first one feinted an attack at his right side, leaving him open for its partner on the left. Instead of inflicting serious damage, though, the second vamp kicked Grey's hands as hard as he could. The lightsaber flew from Grey's grasp, landing ten feet away. It might as well have been a mile.

          The auror recovered quickly, rolling with the momentum of the hit and kicking the vampire in the face. The satisfying crunch of cheekbone staggered the vamp, who recovered and loosed a left hook. Grey slipped the punch and kicked the side of its knee in; the second and third ones took the opening and hit Grey simultaneously in the stomach and the kidney.

          The air rushed from his lungs with a woof. The vampire behind him locked one arm around Grey's right shoulder and pulled his head to the side . The other one turned to the girls, ignoring its wounded partner clutching his ruined knee on the ground. 

          Grey slammed his foot down on his captor's instep, then drove an elbow into the vampire's stomach. The combination broke him loose from the hold. The vampire gasped and stumbled; Grey grabbed its head and twisted until his legs were covered in dust.

          The last standing vampire had almost reached the two witches when Grey grabbed him from behind. With another swift kick, that vamp's knee shattered as well. The two of them hunched over on the ground, hissing and snarling, giving Grey enough of a pause to retrieve his lightsaber. Two swift beheadings later, the immediate area was clear.

          Jess carefully surveyed to the ingredients of her spell, now splayed out on the grass in front of her. She risked a quick glance at Grey, who was engaging another set of vamps, then began to hum. As the tune of her melody expanded, the power gathered around her; it was one of the first tricks Voldemort had taught her, that some magic responded to music.

          When the power reached critical mass, Jess began the incantation. The words were Latin, but she mentally translated them into English as they came out:

          _Of Fear and Forgery do I call;_

_          Of Lies and Falsehood do I call;_

_          Show those of the Lesser Realm_

_          What would make them fear,_

_          What would make them cower,_

_          What would make them tremble._

As the incantation finished, she heard the satisfying shrieks and the buzzing of Grey's blade as he slashed the fleeing vampires into dust. When they had retreated out of his easy reach, he fell back to Jess and Tara's position.

          "What the hell did you do to make them run away like that?"

          "Put the fear of God in 'em, don't you know."

          He looked at her askance.

          "For all they can see, a circle of giant crosses just sprung up around us. Gives 'em the willies."

          He smiled grimly and gave her a brief nod. "I like it."

          "Thought you might."

          "H-hey," Tara called weakly. The energy burst Jess had fed her was about to run out. "I think … I think the giants are coming!" She could feel the tremors in the ground.

          Grey and Jess looked up in horror as the massive forms lumbered closer, undeterred by the illusion of crosses.

          "Got anything else?" Grey asked Jess.

          "I c-can," Tara said before she could answer. "I just … not enough energy to do much," the girl finished. She reached out her hand for Jess.

          The dark-haired girl didn't hesitate, taking the blonde's hand and entwining their fingers. Power surged between them, as it had when Jess touched her shoulder. This time, though, neither pulled away, allowing it to pool where their skin was in contact. Tara's eyes turned milky white, while Jess' darkened completely. The hairs on the back of Grey's neck stood up as he felt the power coalesce.

          Tara's weariness vanished in the blinding intensity of the union. Even more than when she and Willow had faced the Gentlemen, she could feel her power in synch with Jess. She didn't have time to reflect on what that might mean as the words to a long-forgotten spell rose unbidden in her mind. 

          She wanted to chuckle, remembering that her mother had used it for gardening. She chanted the verse, starting slowly and gaining steam as the power reacted to the words. Jess picked up the phrasing and joined in.

          Fifty yards away, the Death Eaters and vampires watched in awe at the display of power.

          Hundreds of blades of grass lengthened and twisted in front of the giants. After thirty seconds it had grown three feet high; a minute later it was five times that long and wrapping itself around legs as thick as tree stumps.

          "Clever," Voldemort muttered, content to let the witches believe they were winning.

          The bewildered giants tried desperately at the entangling grass with their axes, but each cut blade was replaced by two more. Bobbing and weaving around their attacks, grass filled every conceivable empty space, threading over itself until Jess and Tara had encased the giants in a woven cocoon. With the tight covering complete, the two huge men could barely breathe.

          "P-problem s-s-solved," Tara said as the energy drained from her. She released Jess' hand and collapsed to the ground. Jess followed suit, dropping to her knees in the dirt next to Tara.

          Grey watched the witches fall, then looked up to see Tara's defensive magic vanish with a shimmer. The very-much undamaged contingent of Death Eaters surged forward, wands at the ready.

          "Shit."

          Five pairs of Gryffindor eyes swung from Dobby to Curly.

          "Me be thinking you hit your head too much, elf, if you be thinking you stopping Curly." Curly's sneer and menacing smile caught the Gryffindors by surprise.

          "You? You're the assassin? But you're …"

          "A cuddly imp, Harry Potter? I be not thinking so."

          "Ginny, Hermione, get back," Neville whispered urgently. He and Ron stepped in front of the girls as Curly climbed down from the window ledge and stood face to face with Harry. 

          "What about what happened before, with Moe and Larry?"

          "Fools," the imp said dismissively. "The Dark Lord, he send me with them on purpose, so's I be able to do what I did. And now, I be able to finish off Harry Potter for him and he be most pleased with me."

          Curly's eyes turned black and he grabbed the front of Harry's robe. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny pulled their wands but held off casting to avoid hitting Harry. Dobby rushed forward, eager to help; as he started to wave his hands, Hermione grabbed them and shook her head. Dobby saw her and stopped, realizing that any mistake could harm Harry badly.

          Neville, spurred on by months of training with Grey and Spike, lashed out with a surprisingly fluid snap kick, catching Curly in the chest and knocking the diminutive imp's grip loose. He and Harry leveled their wands at Curly.

          "PRAEFOCO!" The imp lashed his hand out and closed it into a fist as he spoke, beating Harry and Neville to the punch. The fist glowed with dark energy, then released a flash at Harry. Ron reacted first, plowing into his friend with a full-body tackle and driving him from its path; the curse whizzed past and hit Hermione's left arm. Magic closed her windpipe. She fell to the floor clutching her neck and gasping for breaths that wouldn't come.

          "'MIONE!!" Ron screamed, horrified at what he'd done. He rolled off of his friend and crawled on all fours to where she lay. Tears streamed from her eyes as she looked up at him, hands still clutched at her neck.

          For one angry moment, Harry watched his friend choking to death. Then he raised his wand and turned his fury-hazed vision on Curly.

          "ACCIO!"

          The end table next to the couch flew into the air, hammering Curly in the back of the head. The imp fell to his knees as pain bloomed at the back of his head. Harry cast the spell again, this time on a chair; it connected with the imp in its path with a solid thwack.

          Neville came in behind the chair, eager to use his new skills. He kicked Curly again, this time in the mouth, then slammed his fist into the imp's gut, twisting it for maximum force as Spike had shown him. A short combination of elbows and knees gave Curly no time to react, and he huddled beneath his hands on the floor, moaning in pain.

          Dobby watched as Harry Potter and the Longbottom boy subdued Curly, then turned to Hermione. He placed his palms together in front of him, thumbs facing up, and concentrated on the curse binding Hermione. To his elven eyes, it appeared as a black collar around her neck, slowly tightening as she struggled. He unfolded his hands, palms up, and as he did so imagined his magic splitting open the collar just as his hands had separated.

          The magic binding broke easily. Hermione coughed twice and took in a lungful of desperately needed air. Ron threw his arms around her, tears leaking from his own eyes.

          "Neville, back off," Harry ordered. He glanced at Ginny, who read his intentions perfectly. Neville retreated a few steps, clearing their line of fire.

          "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Harry and Ginny said together. The combined curse froze Curly in place, his enormous black eyes wide with panic. The young wizard and witch turned to the others.

          "Everybody okay?" Harry asked.

          Hermione extricated herself from Ron's arms and nodded. "I'm okay, thanks to Dobby," she said. She stood and hugged the house elf, completely shocking him.

          "Oh my," he sputtered, "Miss Hermione, Dobby is happy to help. The bad imp did the hurting of Professor Dumbledore, but Dobby is not letting him hurt Harry Potter and his friends, too."

          "Thanks, Dobby," Harry said. "Did Curly do that to you?" He pointed to the bruises on Dobby's face. The elf nodded.

          "Bastard," Ron said under his breath.

          "What do we do now?" Ginny asked.

          "We've still got to try an' help," Harry replied. "At least the door's open."

          "Yes, that's very fortunate, don't you think, Potter?" The voice was cold as ice.

          Lucius Malfoy and a half-dozen Death Eaters stood at the door, each holding an extended wand.

Spike's demon roared, watching the minotaur rear up to its full height and inhale with a mighty snort. The transfiguration professor lay prone on the bottom platform of the stairs, all thought of escape drowned out by the awe-inspiring sight above her.

The crossbow twanged loudly as Giles let fly. His expert marksmanship didn't fail them. The bolt buried itself in the minotaur's chest, staggering the beast. Pain from the wound brought a howl of mixed terror and rage.

Spike surveyed the scene; McGonagall and the minotaur were two levels up, but the stairs for the intermediary level careened around the room at a wicked pace.

"Don't miss, you wanker," the vampire muttered to himself, envisioning the painful impact from a very long fall. He took the stairs three at a time, then bounded across the platform and leapt into the open space.

For a fraction of a second, he thought he had come up short.

Giles held his breath as the vampire exploded into action, his black duster flapping out behind him like the wings of a giant bat. When Spike's outstretched arm caught the railing of the next flight up, Giles expelled the trapped breath and took careful aim. The next bolt he shot for the minotaur's eye, but it glance off the minotaur's bony forehead.

"Fuck," he swore uncharacteristically as it charged down the stairs at McGonagall.

"Idiot vampire." Sirius had shed his black dog guise. He lifted his wand and gave it a practiced swish-and-flick. "_Wingardium leviosa._"

Still gripping the railing in his right hand, Spike was hauling himself onto the platform when he felt the push of magic from below.

"What the … fuckin' hell! Puddles!" The screaming blonde vampire launched into the air and plopped unceremoniously on his ass in front of McGonagall. The minotaur paused mid-rush, its pea-size brain trying to figure out where the blonde had come from even as its huge hands readied to strike him. 

"Fisticuffs, then, is it?" Spike asked, talking more to himself than anyone else. "Fine with us, then." He reared back and smacked a vicious uppercut into its oversized snout.

The minotaur didn't even flinch before it lashed out with a slab-like fist. The blow rattled Spike's teeth but didn't put him down.

"Come on now," he said as he rearranged his grip on the axe, "Slayer can do better than that shit." It swung again, but Spike was ready. He dropped to his right knee, letting the punch sail high, then butted the minotaur under the chin with the top of the axe. A combat boot to the groin left the minotaur swaying like an overweight drunk. "Nothin' like that sick feelin', eh, mate?" 

He punched it in the face, knocking it off-balance, then heard the Watcher's voice.

"Spike! Down!"

The vampire hit the stairs again, feeling a slight ruffle of air as the  crossbow bolt whizzed two inches above his head.

"Eh! Watch the hair, ya pillock!" He looked up, taking in the bolt stuck in its neck and the gurgling sound of the minotaur choking on its own blood. Watcher's not a bad shot, he thought as he lifted the axe above his head and chopped mightily.

With a loud thwack, the horned head came loose and bounced over the edge of the abyss. Putrid smelling brown blood poured from the neck hole as the body toppled down to the stairs. Spike reached back and offered his hand to a stunned McGonagall.

"Come on, then, Professor. Can't be lingering here all day. Lives to save and that nonsense."

          As she took his hand, all she could do was nod and stare at the fallen corpse.


	79. Not Without a Fight VI: Bound and Determ...

          "Where are you, Will?" Grey whispered. She would have heard the explosion and come running, but Hogwarts could be tough to navigate in a hurry. Especially if these bastards left any surprises in the hallways, he added mentally. 

          He needed help. The Death Eaters, uniformly ominous in their faceless dark robes, were drawing closer, inexorably tightening the ring around Grey, Jess, and Tara. Grey could confidently handle one, probably take two, and maybe even stop three Death Eaters if they were really dumb. But double digits?

          _Hang on._

          Grey looked around frantically, then realized the voice was in his head. It sounded vaguely familiar, but…

          _The stairs went wonky and I had to go around. I'll be right there. I love you._

          Willow.

          _I love you, too, he thought as hard as he could. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her smile. At the same time, an odd, icy chill crept up his spine. He shrugged it off._

          Across the field, Wormtail turned to his master.

          "My lord, may I have the honor?"

          Voldemort smiled terribly as he nodded his assent. Wormtail produced his wand and stepped past the line of Death Eaters, motioning for four of them to follow him. They closed on Grey until ten yards separated them. Jess and Tara still lay dazed and unstirring behind him.

"Pettigrew," Grey spat distastefully.

          "You've caused my master no end of trouble this year, squib," the Death Eater responded. "When I'm done with you, you'll be nothing but an empty bag of skin and a giant red stain. CRUCIATUS!"

          The other four Death Eaters followed his lead. The five curses buzzed through the air. Grey's stomach clenched involuntarily against the coming pain. If they all hit …

          Before he could finish the thought, he was moving. The sword whipped around, faster than it ever had; in his mind's eye, he envisioned the path of each curse carved invisibly in the air. He stepped backward, letting them get close enough to almost merge. With a carefully-timed slash, he caught them all on his blade at once.

          Wormtail scowled.

          "Spread out," he said to the others. "Don't …"

          "Let his pissed off, powerful, Wicca girlfriend get ahold of you? Good plan, rat-boy," Willow said with a snarl as she floated through the ruined doorway. Her eyes were completely black and her red hair fanned out in all directions. "Little shaky on the execution, though."

          She lifted a hand and Grey felt a cool breeze pass over him; it picked up quickly, accelerating to gale force and blowing Pettigrew and his four lackeys backwards. She moved it forward and soon all of the Death Eaters had fallen to the ground except Voldemort. She whispered a few latin words that he couldn't hear, and a wall of flame sprung up in front of the Death Eaters. Then Willow floated over to Grey and landed.

          "Hey."

          "Hey, yourself." She seemed in control, but … He glanced at her neck. "No necklace?"

          She shook her head, but didn't say why not. "Are Tara and Jess okay?"

          "I-I'm alright," Tara said. She stood haltingly and put a hand on Willow's shoulder for support.

          "Fine, Red," Jess said as she pulled herself to her feet. She felt hollowed out from the effort of maintaining the illusion of the crosses and of pumping up Tara on top of all the other spells she had cast today. "I don't think we'll be much for casting right yet."

          Willow nodded, then looked at Grey. "It's okay. We got it."

          "We do?" he asked skeptically.

          "Uh huh. You with me, baldy?" The Death Eaters would be recovering from the wind, but with the flames between them, Grey couldn't see how fast.

          He didn't answer. They should back away, find safer ground and let the Death Eaters give chase. Something in her voice told him not to suggest it, though; this was his Willow, but she seemed a little off.

          "I'm fine," she said with a glare. "We'll take them now."

          He glared right back.

          "I don't think that's a good idea. And," he added, his anxiety rising a notch and stirring his anger, "don't read my thoughts."

          Her cheeks flushed. "Don't tell me what to do."

          "Hey!" Tara shouted, stepping between them. "We-we don't have time for this. What are we going to do?"

          "We need to back off, fight them somewhere where they have to come at us piecemeal," Grey said, his eyes on Willow. He could feel her chafing at the suggestion. _Something's wrong here, he suddenly realized._

          "I think killing them now would be a lot more fun."

          Tara and Grey looked at her in horror.

          "We're not killing anyone, Will. Not now or later. Those are people," he said. His voice was dead calm, but he was slowly realizing how much of a hold the dark magic had on her. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. "Human beings. We can't just kill them."

          "Don't listen to him, Red," Jess said. "If we don't take them out, they'll slice us to bits, sure as hell." She put her hand on the redhead's arm. "They'll slice him to bits."

          "Jess, shut the fuck up." Grey grabbed her shoulder and yanked her away from Willow. "She's not a killer."

          The 'like you' portion of the sentence hung in the air, unsaid but no less real.

          Jess recoiled from his venomous tone as if she'd been slapped.

          They stood there like that for almost a minute: Jess staring incredulously at Grey, Tara nervously shifting her eyes from Grey to Willow, and Grey and Willow glaring at each other angrily, all backlit by the roaring fire. Before they could resolve anything, another voice broke in.

          "Well, isn't that interesting? Problems with your witches, Mister Grey?"

          The wall of flames had come down, and Voldemort stood at the head of his Death Eaters with his wand extended and his eyes raking the foursome with a hungry look. The giants had been untied and the remaining vampires and hellhounds formed into a deadly line.

          "Don't worry. They'll be over in a few seconds."

          "Finneran, take Morley and Hilton and deliver these others to Snape," Malfoy ordered, gesturing to the captured Gryffindors. "He'll know where to dispose of them. Branyan, you and the rest of this lot come with me. We'll take no chances with our guest."

          He sneered at Harry, hands on his shoulders. The young wizard stood stock still, not wanting to give them any excuse to hurt him. If he waited long enough, he might find a way out. He had a brief flicker of hope at the thought that they hadn't taken Dobby, but the house elf was frozen on the floor of the Gryffindor common room with Curly and wouldn't be any help. Neither would any of his friends.

          Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ginny had been stripped of their wands after Malfoy had magically bound their hands. As the three Death Eaters shepherded them away, Ginny looked back, her pleading eyes huge and rimmed with tears.

          "Harry!" She tried to run back to him, but Morley stuck out a gnarled hand and yanked her back.

          "Don't worry, Gin," he said, putting on a brave face. "I'll be back for you."

          "Harry," she whined softly, the tears dripping down her face. She wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words before Malfoy led him away.

          Ron shook with rage at the sight of his sister crying and his best friend hauled off to Voldemort. Hermione touched his back with a knuckle in a brief gesture of support, knowing that any move he made would make the situation infinitely worse. Besides, as much as she loathed him, Snape was on their side. He would help them out of this and then they could retrieve Harry.

          If he wasn't already dead.

          Malfoy guided Harry down the hallway, trailing his two goons by several strides. The sharp knife pressed against Harry's throat was serrated on both sides and glimmered brightly in the torchlight. Before long, they came to an archway that opened into the stairwell, where four surprised faces greeted them.

          The axe came off Spike's shoulder immediately; Giles leveled his crossbow and Sirius, back in dog form, growled menacingly as he saw the knife at Harry's throat. It was McGonagall who stated the obvious.

          "Harry! My God!"

          "No funny business, Professor," Branyan said, stepping forward because he knew Malfoy could not risk exposure. "Weapons on the ground right quick or the prodigy gets it." No one moved. Sirius growled again, but stayed still. "What're ya waitin' for? You think we won't kill the little bastard?"

          Malfoy pressed the knife against the soft flesh of Harry's neck, drawing a drop of blood. The axe dinged as it hit the stone floor, followed rapidly by the thud of the wooden crossbow. McGonagall handed her wand over to Branyan, who smiled underneath his hood.

          "There now, that was all sensible-like, wasn't it? Let's take a short stroll outside, then. The courtyard, and try not to dawdle." He motioned for the adults to go first. Spike, McGonagall and Giles stepped past Harry and Malfoy, but Sirius gave a sharp howl and took off in the other direction.

          "Stupid mutt," Spike said to Branyan. "No loyalty, that one. I even feed his ugly arse from the table, and what do I get? Bollocks."

          Branyan chuckled as the group started off, not turning to see that the dog had only gone far enough to hide in the shadows.

          Snape was waiting when they reached the Slytherin common room. No one other than Ron had ever been inside, but they found the dismal décor appropriate.

          At Snape's orders, which they knew not to question, the Slytherins were all locked away in their individual dorms. With one exception. Draco Malfoy crouched behind a marble planter, concealed by the shadows and watching carefully as the Gryffindors were given over to Snape's care. He couldn't see any of the proceedings directly, but the knew the Gryffindors had to be wetting themselves with fear.

          "Malfoy said you should dispose of these here Gryf wretches," Draco heard a scratchy voice say. Snape must have nodded in response, because the Death Eater started talking again. "Where should we take 'em?"

          "I'll deal with them here. You get back out and help our master kill the witches."

          "But Malfoy said…"

          "Malfoy is not here." Snape's voice was cold and officious, a tone Draco knew well from class. "I am, and I am telling you to go now. It is possible that these children know something vital. Once it has been extracted…" He paused, and his next words nearly made Draco vomit, "once it has been extracted, you can be assured I will feed them into that rather large fireplace."

          Draco blanched as he fought down the nausea. He hated the Gryffindors in front of him. That was no secret. But torturing them and sticking them in the common room fireplace? The true insanity of Voldemort and the Death Eaters finally registered in Draco's mind. His father – his FATHER – had ordered them killed. He hated the man, loathed the beatings and the belittling and would swear up and down that the bastard was as evil as they came, but Draco had never thought him truly mad. Until now. Was this what they intended for the whole wizarding world? Feeding the opposition to the fire?

          He couldn't allow that. If he did, he was almost as responsible for it as Snape. To hell with protecting himself.

          Draco shifted slightly, drawing his wand from his sleeve with only a slight rasp of wood on wool.

          Out of his sight, the Death Eater smiled. He clapped Snape on the arm. "You do have a way about you, Severus. I will grant you that."

          "Give me their wands," Snape said.

          "Why's that?" Finneran asked as he handed them over.

          Snape said nothing, his beady eyes boring into the Death Eater. Suitably intimidated, Finneran backed away. "Let's be off," he said to his two partners, and the three Death Eaters left the room.

          Draco waited until he heard the door latch closed, then he leapt from behind the planter. Snape was moving towards Granger, his wand out.

          "EXPELLIARMUS!" Draco shouted.

          Surprised, Snape turned and barely blocked the spell in time.

          "Malfoy, wait…" Ron said.

          Draco interrupted him with another spell.

          "INCENDO!" The fireball shot from his wand; Snape dove away from the Gryffindors as the flames sailed past, scorching the stone wall behind him.

          "CONGELO!" A blue burst of light shot from Snape's wand and hit Draco square in the chest. He floated into the air, his wand hand still sticking out and completely unable to move or speak.

          "That will be quite enough of that," Snape said. He crossed the room and snatched Draco's wand away. Using both of them, he quickly released the magical bonds on the Gryffindors.

          "_Resolvo," he cast, quietly releasing the blonde boy, who crashed to the floor with a grunt._

          "But … you … why?" Draco asked, pointing at the freed Gryffindors, who were eagerly grabbing their wands.

          "He's not a bad guy anymore, Malfoy," Ron said. "He's a double agent. Sound familiar?"

          Snape's eyes narrowed as he processed Ron's words.

          "You're no longer helping your father, Draco?"

          "That bugger can kiss my arse, the flamin' pansy," Draco said defiantly.

          "I see. And you feel he can be trusted, Granger?" Snape had always felt she was the cream of this particular crop.

          "We didn't, Professor," she said honestly, drawing a scowl from Malfoy, "but I do now. We've kept his contributions carefully hidden." She explained briefly about the incident with Fred and George. "I think it's fair to say that he just risked his life for ours, since he had no idea about you. So yes," she said, crossing a large black line in her mind, "I trust him." 

          Now Ron scowled, but then reluctantly nodded as her logic sank in. Neville and Ginny followed suit, and Snape turned to look at his prized student. His voice came out laced with both pride and sorrow.

          "Believe me, Draco, it's better that you learn this now. Far, far better."

          "They'd really expect you to … to put them in the fireplace?"

          Snape nodded. "And to do it before killing them. They respect that."

          His complexion green, Draco swallowed hard. "Fucking madmen."

          "Which is why," Snape agreed quietly, "they must be stopped."

          "What now?" Neville asked.

          "We have to help Harry," Ginny said. She hadn't spoken since Lucius Malfoy had hauled him away.

          "Tell me," Snape said, and Hermione described briefly what had occurred.

          Ron walked over to the main table and pulled out the slip of paper he had hidden in his robe.

          "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, tapping it with his wand. The magical ink resolved itself into an ugly picture. "Come look," he said to the others, who gathered around. 

          "What is that thing?" Snape asked. It seemed vaguely familiar.

          Reluctant to reveal the truth, Ron muttered, "Map of the grounds."

          The Marauder's Map showed Grey, Tara, Jess, and Willow surrounded by unfamiliar names. The name Tom Riddle stood out prominently on the page.

          "Those are all Death Eaters," Snape said, moving his finger around the page. He decided, against the urgings of his heart, to ignore the existence of such a device. For the moment.

          "These must be some other henchmen." Hermione indicated the rest of the names.

          "Vampires, most likely," Snape said.

          "Maybe some giants," Malfoy added. The Potions Master nodded.

          "Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, his eyes wide. "It's an army."

          "Indeed it is, Weasley. Can we see anything else on this thing? Potter, perhaps?" Ron nodded, then shifted the map to the corridors he thought Harry might be in. To their surprise, they saw Giles, McGonagall, and Spike clustered around Harry, Malfoy, and the Death Eaters. Sirius seemed to be trailing behind.

          "Branyan. He's an evil one," Draco said. Snape nodded. "I don't think we can bust him out."

          "The hell we can't, Malfoy!" Blood rushed to Ron's face. "We aren't abandonin' him jus' cause you don't want to risk your worthless ass!"

          For three full seconds, Malfoy gave him a hard stare.

          "You're an idiot, Weasley. That's my father there. You really think I don't want to take his wand and wring his fucking neck with it? What I'm saying is that we don't have the forces to take all of them down before they can kill Potter. We need help."

          "Not a lot of help to be had," Neville pointed out as Ron backed off.

          Hermione, staring intently at the fireplace, looked back at Neville and smiled.

          "Actually, there is. We just have to go get it."


	80. Not Without a Fight VII: Fallen

          "Do the words 'Bite Me' mean anything to you, skull-head?"

          "Willow…"

          "Will…"

          "Red, he ain't a good guy to…"

          The ground in front of them exploded, sending all four hurtling through the air. The sound of the blast, coupled with the shower of falling dirt, left them stunned and disoriented on the ground.

          "You really have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?" Voldemort said. "You think you have power, little witch? That you're an unstoppable force?" He flicked his wand and Willow's dirty form rose a few feet into the air. "You aren't. Not now. You don't know half of what Precious knows, and she is a suckling babe in the world of dark magic. Isn't that right, Precious?"

          "Leave her be, you son of a bitch!" Jess yelled. "Don't listen to him, Red. You don't want what he has to offer. You'll lose…"

          Voldemort flicked his wand. "_Crucio_."

          Jess doubled over, screaming in pain as the curse hit her. Willow struggled valiantly, but whatever Voldemort had done to her had stolen control of her body completely.

          "That's a good girl. Be quiet, Precious. You've had your say. Now, Willow, where were we? Oh, yes, I remember…"

          "You were packing up and leaving before I killed you," Grey snarled. He wiped the dirt from his eyes and came to his feet.

          Genuinely amused, Voldemort let out a loud cackle. 

          "Oh, that is hysterical, Mister Grey. Yes, at the sight of your fearsome lightsaber I will most certainly do a runner." His red eyes flashed. "I think not." Another flick of the wand and an invisible fist slammed into Grey, knocking him sprawling. He lay on the ground near Tara and his still-screaming ex-fiancee, feeling pain ripple through his cracked ribs with every breath. He watched helplessly through hazy vision as a similar force sent Tara writhing.

          As they lay on the ground gasping for breath, Lucius Malfoy entered the courtyard with Harry and the rest. He herded them away from the witches and the auror, close to Voldemort. The Death Eaters shoved them roughly to their knees and two took up guard positions.

          "As you requested, my lord," Lucius reported, dropping to one knee. "The others were in our way, so we collected them as well."

          "Excellent work, Lucius," Voldemort praised as he surveyed the captives. "Your best in ages." Voldemort walked over to Harry and cupped his chin. "Harry Potter. Splendid. I do love a nice dessert after a full meal."

          Harry shook him off roughly, praying silently for Snape to hurry up and get Ron and the others loose.

          "Such a rascal, this one. Anyway," Voldemort intoned, walking back to Willow, "as I was saying before, you know almost nothing. It bothers you, doesn't it? Having the power all locked up inside and no way to let it out?  Having it scratch and tear and burn under your skin, with no way to relieve the pressure?"

          "Don't listen to him, Willow," Grey called weakly, knowing where Voldemort was headed. The wand moved again and Grey was on the ground writhing in pain, an iron band of pressure constricting his broken chest. 

          Willow's eyes widened and her nostrils flared as he cried out. She could feel the power building inside her but had no idea how to break Voldemort's hold. From her perch in the sky, she could see Jess shaking from the effects of the _Cruciatus curse and Grey and Tara clutching their chests as Voldemort's grip squeezed tighter on them._

          "I can help you," Voldemort continued, "I can teach you, make you powerful and strong and," he paused for dramatic effect, "comfortable with your magic. You would be as powerful as any sorceress who ever lived."

          "Actually," a distinctly female voice called from the shadows of the building, "I really think she's okay with the standard magical features. I mean, power locks, power windows, resurrection spells. Does she need anything else?"

          Buffy Summers stepped into the courtyard, her blue eyes locked on Voldemort. As she saw his face more closely, she wrinkled her nose.

          "You know, I have friend from L.A., her dad's a plastic surgeon. He could take care of the whole Skeletor thing you have going on. I hear his prices are reasonable, too."

          Incensed, Voldemort raised his wand and shouted. 

          "CRUCIO!"

          Buffy deftly dodged the curse and kept talking.

          "Rude much? It was just a suggestion." She pouted. "Guess I'll keep my fashion advice to myself."

          "Who are you, girl? Only an idiot would come here now, alone, and taunt me." His voice held the arrogant astonishment of someone who had never been spoken to that way, and couldn't really process it.

          "You mean you don't know?" Spike snorted from his knees. "You wanker. Tryin' to kill the Slayer's best friend, and you don't know the Slayer when you see her?" One of the Death Eaters backhanded him across the face. Spike managed to keep himself from toppling over, but when he had his balance again he spat blood onto the grass in front of him.

          "The Slayer?" Voldemort laughed. "What can you possibly hope to accomplish against a powerful wizard such as I?"

          "Nothing, I guess. I mean, what can I say?" Buffy replied with a smirk. "I've never been much for the book learning or the strategy. That's Willow's department." She smiled at the redhead. "I did pick up a few things though, such as don't be stupid," she paused for dramatic effect, "and come alone."  
          Four crossbow bolts sped from the shadows, two each for the Death Eaters standing guard over Spike, Harry, and the professors. The guards dropped with a thud as the bolts took out their legs. 

          Connor and Angel appeared beside Buffy, their faces grim and determined, longswords nestled tightly in their hands. Sirius, still in dog form, walked out with them.

          Gunn and Xander came out from the building carrying nasty-looking axes and stepped between Voldemort's army and the four captives. Dawn, Fred, Cordelia, and Wesley came into view behind them, calmly reloading their crossbows.

          "RESOLVO!" Four voices shouted at once, and Harry, Spike, McGonagall, and Giles felt their bonds break. The four other Gryffindors came forward, helping them to their feet. Neville gave his wand to a shocked Harry, then drew two short swords from beneath his robe and handed one to Spike.

          "You're a better wizard than me," he said by way of explanation. Harry took the wand and nodded.

          "Remember," Spike said quietly to Neville, "stick and move, stick and bloody move." Neville nodded. He willed his muscles to relax as he grimly observed the forces massed against them.

          Voldemort laughed as Buffy pulled Grey, Jess and Tara to their feet. All three of them swayed unsteadily but were able to stand.

          "This is what you bring? Muggles, vampires, and children? Are you daft?"

          "It means stupid," Spike told Xander.

          "I know what daft means, Junior. Shut up and let Buffy talk to the evil wizard."

          Voldemort was done talking.

          "I believe I have had enough of you fools." He looked Willow in the eye. "It was a superb offer. You could have had everything. Of course, I know you would never accept. Pity." His wand moved again, following his eyes to the redhead.

          Grey felt it coming before it happened. He moved so fast that he never heard the words; all he saw was the eerie glow of green as it left the wand headed directly for Willow.

          He wanted to tell her he loved her, to say it aloud and make it real, but he never had the chance. He hoped she had felt it in his thoughts.

He stepped in front of her and the curse hit his lightsaber straight on. With an unholy shriek, the metal and magic rent and exploded, burying shiny silver shards in Grey's chest a split-second before the _Avada Kedavra_ curse seared him. 

          His body collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

          "NOOOO!"

          Willow's scream tore the night apart.

          The air came alive with dark magic. Even the youngest wizards could feel it vibrating around them as Willow's pain manifested itself. A black flash tore her free from Voldemort's binding; she dropped to the ground and tenderly touched Grey's chest.

          She bent her head and a single tear leaked from her eye. Then the need for vengeance took over, and Willow disappeared into her magic.

She raised her hand and tendrils of dark energy shot from her fingertips. Each one snaked out and stabbed the chest of a Death Eater. The ten robed bodies convulsed and bucked as she sucked their magic from them.

          Voldemort watched in awe as she drew together more and more power. He erected a shield around himself and the closest Death Eaters, though her power lines stayed far from his place. Wormtail and Malfoy flanked him, each with his wand at the ready.

          Buffy moved to grab Willow, but Angel held her back.

          "Don't!" He shouted. "The magic will kill you if you touch her!"

          "But…"

          "Buffy, don't!"

          Abruptly, the energy disappeared and the drained Death Eaters crumpled to the ground, barely alive. 

          Willow stood silently, flexing the fingers of her hands and feeling the magic inside her. Her whole body rippled with it, like when she would stand too close to the speakers at one of Oz's concerts and the sound waves would overwhelm her. Her hair had turned black and her skin was so pale that purple veins showed through.

          She turned her gaze on Voldemort, and her anger was frightening to behold.

          "You." The one word said it all.

          Voldemort was not afraid. She had no idea the powers he possessed.       "Well, my dear, it would appear you've grown up a bit. Thinking about taking me on, are you?"

          She said nothing, the power burning for release. She didn't know enough to defeat him; his power most likely still exceeded hers, and he had years of experience that she didn't.

          But someone else did.

          Willow looked at Jess. The sorceress was staring at Grey, an oddly disquieted look in her eyes. She had completely ignored the spectacle that had unfolded in the courtyard.

          "Jess." 

          The dark-haired sorceress looked up. "That's a new look. Red, listen …"

          "I need you," Willow said, ignoring her. "ACCIO!"

          An invisible hand yanked Jess forward; Willow caught her by the throat, her grip shockingly strong.

          "Don't … do … it," Jess choked out, knowing what Willow wanted. "It … hurts … you … more … Willow, please!"

          "I'm sorry," she replied, an angry sneer marring her pale features as she thought of all the pain this one had caused Grey. "Willow doesn't live here anymore."

          The air around them shimmered, like the heat distortion that floated above the sand in the desert. Jess' head buzzed, the kind of sickening feeling she knew from nights of hard drinking, and she felt Willow inside her mind. It lasted only a few seconds before she saw Willow's eyes flash and the witch let her go. She dropped next to Grey, every muscle in her entire body drained of energy. Even the thought of moving was too much.

          "Oh dear," Giles whispered.

          Tara moved to check on Jess, relieved to find the girl still breathing and barely conscious. Buffy sprinted the ten yards to where Giles stood with the others; Connor and Angel followed right on her heels.

          "Giles, what is this? What's she doing?"

          "Grieving, I think."

          "What did she…"

          "Absorbed her knowledge," McGonagall answered before Buffy even finished the question. "I fear she is now more deadly than Miss O'Brien was, even at the height of her powers."

          "Agreed," Giles said.

          "We need to help her!"

          "Actually, I'm thinking we duck and cover first," Xander chipped in, watching his best friend sweep the field with her glare.

          "Taught her a lot, didn'tcha," Willow said to Voldemort. An evil grin spread over her face. "Thanks."

          "P-perhaps we should … retreat, my lord?" Wormtail whispered.

"Hardly, though some caution is in order. Let our allies battle them while our people fall back a bit. We don't want to risk my loyal following unnecessarily. Leave the girl to me; once she is stopped, we can finish off the rest at our leisure."

          He kept his voice low, but she heard him anyway.

          "The girl doesn't think so."

          Voldemort glared at her. A dark streak of indeterminate evil magic shot at her from his wand. Willow held up her right hand; the blast stopped in mid-air and vanished.      

          "Bored now."

A thousand tiny sonic booms filled the air as Willow harnessed the air around her into an armada of razor-sharp blades. They hung behind her for a short moment, distorting the view of the building beyond. Then they hurtled forward.

Even as Malfoy and Wormtail covered their heads with their arms and huddled on the ground, Voldemort stood unflinching. His shield stopped the air daggers several yards from him.

          "That's how you begin, my dear? Clearly, I didn't teach her enough." He turned back to Wormtail. "Now, Wormtail."

          Wormtail pointed his wand to the sky and said the correct words. The energy shot from his wand and there, glowing high in the sky, was the dark mark.

          It was their signal for a general advance, and it caused all hell to break loose.

          A dozen vampires and the last few hellhounds rushed at Buffy; she, Angel, and Connor saw them move and met them halfway with swords and fists flying. The Gryffindors, following Professor McGonagall's orders, hurled curses in the direction of the Death Eaters, who fired right back. The four crossbow-wielders turned and fired in the direction of the vampires, careful not to hit their comrades.

          Spike, Xander, and Gunn watched with wide eyes as the giants came for them.

          "Those can't be real," Gunn said, shaking his head.

          "They're real alright, mate. Strong as all hell, and mean."

          "Once again I say, anyone for ducking and covering?"

          Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at Gunn. "Whelp's got a point."

          "Don't want ter disappoint yeh," Hagrid said, stepping out of the building's shadow, an enormous mace clutched in his right hand, "but they ain't that tough ter stop." Sirius had told him to watch and wait for when he was needed. He figured now was about that time. "Jus' like normal people, 'cept bigger an' stronger."

          "Riiiight," Xander said. "Like normal people. Sure. Okay. Says the guy the size of a Suburban."

          The four of them readied their weapons and advanced towards the lumbering giants in a rough line.

          "That's Pettigrew, isn't it," Harry said to Ron as he gestured with Neville's  wand. The fat wizard had scurried away from Voldemort's side, and now stood in the open, trying to figure out where his energy would best be spent.

          "Harry, you're not thinkin' … what am I saying. Let's torch the wanker."

          Harry nodded grimly, then turned to Neville, Ginny, and Hermione.

          "Can you three keep us covered?"

          Hermione nodded. "Let's go get him."

          They took off at a dead run.


	81. Not Without a Fight VIII: No Points for ...

          Several yards away, Jess suddenly sat up and grabbed the collar of Tara's dress.

          "I need you to help me!"

          "I-I-I th-think we need to help Willow," Tara stammered, taken aback by the girl's abrupt movement.

          Jess met Tara's eyes.

          "No, Willow can take care of herself."

          "What?"

          "She can take care of herself. We have to help Grey."

          "J-Jess, Grey …he's …"

          "NOT DEAD! Listen to me. A few years back, I cast a _Catenatus _charm on him. Do you know about those?" Tara shook her head. "It has a lot of effects, but the most important one is simple: I can feel if he's alive. It lasts until I cancel it or he dies, and I CAN STILL FEEL IT!" She shouted the last sentence, trying to make her point heard over the din. "He isn't dead. Now come on!" She grabbed the blonde girl's arm and hauled her to Grey's motionless body.

          He certainly looked dead to Tara. She reached down and felt for a pulse; she was astonished to find a very faint one.

          "Goddess! He-he is. B-but how?"

          "Worry about that later, though I'm thinkin' it was the souped-up lightsaber. We need to get him secured, somehow."

          They both looked up. The battle swirled around them; Buffy, Angel, Connor and Sirius were winning the fight with the vamps, supported by the four crossbows. Xander, Gunn, Spike, and Hagrid had the giants on the ropes. Jess could tell that the order to fall back was slowly circulating among the Death Eaters, though the Gryffindors were giving them fits as they tried to close on Pettigrew. The four kids were surprisingly effective, and Neville was doing a fair amount of damage to anything that got too close. _They've fought real battles before_, she realized.

          In the center of all of it, every color of the rainbow and samples of all four elements flew back and forth between Willow and Voldemort. The raw power on display could have leveled mountains, but neither seemed to be gaining an inch.

          "Can you cast?" Jess asked Tara, who shook her head. "Me either. We need someone to, though, or he'll die right here on the lawn." Her features suddenly hardened. "That's not happening."

          "L-let me try something."

          Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Buffy, Angel, and Connor were grace personified as they assaulted the undead horde. To Sirius' eyes they moved as one, like a scythe harvesting grain. He had his wand out now, and his library of combat spells zinged through the air. He saw Harry on the far side of the battle and wanted to call out to him, but he knew it would only break the boy's concentration. He shouldn't be out here, Sirius thought fleetingly as he put another vampire to the torch. At the same time, Spike's words came back to him: _He's got the hero gene_. And for an instant, pride replaced worry. 

Then, an instant later, the vampires and hellhounds were all gone and the four of them were charging in after the Death Eaters, with Giles, McGonagall, Wesley, and the girls right on their heels. 

The fist was the size of Spike's head, and it bore down on him with impossible speed.

Gunn's axe moved faster.

          The razor sharp edge tore through muscle and bone, slicing the limb off neatly at the elbow. The giant fell to its knees, screaming in pain and clutching its rent limb. Hagrid's own fist flew through the air, hammering it in the face. Xander added a swift kick and Spike a right cross, and the giant slumped over, unconscious. Its slaughtered partner lay next to it.

          "'Ey Shaft," Spike said as he retrieved his sword from the first giant's chest. "Thanks."

          "Shaft?" Gunn said, incensed.

          "Ignore him," Xander interjected. "He's obnoxious for the sole purpose of preventing anyone from liking him. Not that I mind," he quickly added. Gunn snarled one more time at Spike, but seemed mollified.

          "Not ter break up yer celebratin' or nothin', but I think the kids could use our help," Hagrid said, pointing to where Harry and the others were finally facing off with Wormtail. From their angle, the Gryffindors couldn't see Lucius Malfoy coming up from behind them.

          "Damn," Spike muttered as he tossed his cigarette away unlit and took off. The other three followed in short order.

"Harry, please," Wormtail begged. Four wands were pointed at him and Neville had the sword point six inches from his chest. "Please don't." He cast around frantically, but the Death Eaters were in full retreat and their allies were thoroughly routed. "Your father … he wouldn't …"

"Don't you dare talk about Harry's father, you bastard!"

The shout came from, of all people, Ginny. With his free hand, Ron touched her shoulder. Pettigrew was still dangerous, even at the point of a sword.

"Give me your wand, Pettigrew," Harry said. His voice had an edge that only Ron and Hermione had ever heard before.

"Be reasonable, Harry. Your father and I …"

"NOW, Pettigrew."

Wormtail sensed that each word was only making them angrier. In desperation, he reached slowly into his sleeve.

And then changed into a rat.

The change happened so fast that Neville, jerking the sword forward, missed completely and fell to the ground. Wormtail darted through his collapsing legs and between Harry's. He changed shapes again behind them, grabbing Ginny as he grew from rat form and placing his wand at her throat.

          "Now, children, let's not do something rash. Drop your wand, Miss," he looked at her red hair, "my, you must be a Weasley. Now Miss Weasley, drop it." She complied, her wand soundlessly slipping onto the grass.

          "And I'll take those," Malfoy said from behind them as he snatched away Ron and Harry's wands and kicked Neville's sword into the distance. "Can't have you doing anything rash, children. You," he pointed to Hermione, "come here. The rest of you, over there."         

Hermione stepped forward and he drew his wand, pointing it at her chin. With his other hand he tossed the wands away.

Flushed and angry at themselves for not spotting Malfoy, the three wandless wizards took several steps backwards. They very nearly bumped into Spike and his group, who came to a dead stop at the sight of Ginny and Hermione held hostage.

          _Willow._

          The voice in her head was almost too soft to hear over the droning rage. She was throwing every spell at him that Jess had ever seen, and he kept deflecting them. It was maddening, but it kept her from focusing on Grey.

          Her love.

          Who loved her.

Who was dead.

          The rage exploded again, and she conjured and threw a ball of magnesium. It exploded into a ball of fire as it accelerated through the air. Voldemort brushed it aside with no ill effects.

          _Willow, please, if you can here me, sweetie, I need you._

          _Little busy, Tara._ Frustrated, Willow through a barrage of ice spikes that were quickly destroyed.

The next thought blared at her.

          _GREY'S ALIVE!_

          The intensity of it, and the truth behind it, almost knocked Willow over. The stream of spells coming from her ceased; Voldemort, waiting for such an opening, wasted no time with his attack.

          "EXIGO!"

          Willow heard a crack and felt her ribs break when the beam of orange light tossed her into the air. She flew backwards a full dozen yards, landing with a scream audible over the din. Jess and Tara rushed to her side, but the shaken witch couldn't form words to cast, and the other two realized they were helpless in the middle of a raging battle.

          Voldemort walked slowly forward, savoring the feeling of triumph as he watched Precious, the prone witch, and the blonde girl eyeing him with undisguised fear. So caught up with enjoying Willow's imminent death was he that he failed to notice the cloud of dust from the last of his vampires, or the tumbling thunks of the dead giants, or the shouting of his Death Eaters in full retreat.

          "I suppose this is for the best," he said, a final hint of resignation in his voice as he raised his wand. "We would have had fun, though."

          A small leather boot, well-worn but with a stylish and understated silver buckle, lashed up with the full force of Slayer strength behind it and broke his hand.

          "It's not nice to point," Buffy quipped as she snatched the wand from the air. Voldemort began mouthing an incantation when Angel grabbed him from behind, full game face on display, and dug the point of his sword into the wizard's back.

          "None of that, ugly. Unless you want a double-edged belly button ring."

          "Angel, don't let him say a word," Buffy ordered. She cocked her head and studied the dark vampire for a moment. "Your lines are better."

          "Didn't have you to hold my hand with it any more. It was get better or be boring," he answered, his grin frightening beneath the fangs. "What do you want to do with Saruman here?"

          "I think you had best let him go, vampire," Lucius Malfoy's icy voice called out, "else something unfortunate happen to the two young ladies."

          Malfoy and Pettigrew dragged Hermione and Ginny to a spot ten feet from where Angel held Voldemort, with Spike and the others following closely behind. The dark wizard's eyes burned with the indignity of his plight, and he silently vowed that he would exact bloody vengeance on every person there.

          Seeing the hostages, Dawn and Fred trained their crossbows on Malfoy, and Cordelia and Wesley did the same to Pettigrew. None of them were confident of hitting anything other than Hermione and Ginny.

          "He's-he's alive?" Willow whispered to Tara and Jess. The three of them were tensely observing the hostage drama. Her wind had finally returned after the hard blow from Voldemort. 

          "I'm sure of it," Jess told her quietly, eyeing the still-black hair and pale skin warily.

She said it with utter conviction, and when Tara nodded, a wave of hope sprouted in Willow's chest. If she could only stop and think … lying on the ground, she felt something digging into her leg. Grey's necklace. She reached gingerly into her pocket and pulled it out. She handed it to Tara, who clasped it around her neck.

          The rage didn't die, but it faded into the background. With some dismay, she wondered if the magic stolen from the Death Eaters would be with her permanently. If so, she would need a lot more training to hold it in check. Shoving the thought to the back of her mind, she looked up at Jess and Tara.

"Okay, Willow's home," she said softly, earning a smile from Tara and a breath of relief from Jess.

          Jess spoke next. "We don't help him soon, he buys the farm for sure. Can you cast?"

Willow nodded, but her features sagged as she followed the thought through to its conclusion.

"I don't know much healing magic, though. She … I didn't take that knowledge from you. I could maybe stop the Death Eaters, but … I don't have enough control to be precise about it. I can't risk it. I don't want the girls hurt – Grey wouldn't trade their lives for his, and I won't either."

          "W-We need to d-do something," Tara said.

          "I just don't know what we can do," was Willow's inadequate answer.

          "Listen to me, Pettigrew," McGonagall called, knowing he was the weak link. She wished she had her wand, but in the chaos of the fighting she had been unable to retrieve it. "You know we will not allow you to harm those children, and we will not allow your master to escape."

          Wormtail looked nervously from Malfoy, whose hood obscured his face still, to Voldemort, whose eyes burned with fury. His wand began to waver.

          "Drop that wand and you die second, Wormtail," Malfoy said coldly.

          Ron and Harry, standing off to the side, traded a look.

          "Ron," Harry whispered. The redhead raised an eyebrow. "We knock down Malfoy, this'll be over."

          Spike, with his vampiric hearing, eavesdropped on the exchange, hoping the bloody fools didn't go and do something rash.

          "How?" Ron hissed.

          "Wands are on the ground still." He nodded to the wands, lying behind Malfoy in the grass. "An' there's no one between us and them."

          Ron picked up the gist instantly.

          "D'you think it'll work? 'Cos … " Ron trailed off as he caught Spike looking at him. The vampire read his mind and nodded. It would be rash, but it might work if he jumped in. In the background, they could hear McGonagall and Malfoy shouting demands back and forth.

          "Works for Willow. An' if it doesn't, what have we lost?" Harry asked. "On three?"

Ron nodded.

The Boy Who Lived held one hand down at his side, where Ron could see it, and extended three fingers. Ron nodded again.

One finger curled in.

Two fingers curled in.

When the third finger reached Harry's palm, everything happened at once.

"ACCIO!" They both shouted.

The wands didn't move. 

Spike did.

Malfoy looked up in surprise, loosening his grip slightly on Hermione's neck to see where the spell had been cast. With his supernatural speed, Spike leapt from his spot and grabbed Malfoy's wand hand, forcing it away from her throat. When the Death Eater's grip eased, Hermione stamped hard on his foot and fell to the ground beyond his reach.

Neville, seeing Spike move, did the only thing he could think of, which was tackle Wormtail to the ground. Ginny squirted loose from his hold and dove for safety. 

On the far side, Voldemort shouted the word "ABEO!" and disappeared. Angel doubled over, something hard impacting with his crotch, and let go of Voldemort and dropped his sword. Buffy rushed to help, but took an invisible elbow to the chin and had the wand snatched from her grasp.

The same spell rang out twice more, and Wormtail and Malfoy vanished from view. They heard Voldemort call out another unfamiliar spell, and suddenly Spike lost his grip on Malfoy and Neville lost his grip on Wormtail. The sounds of labored breathing and footsteps quickly faded away into the darkness.

"Dammit!" Spike shouted. "You worthless bastards! Get your asses back here!" He looked at Angel and Sirius. "We track them, yeah?"

"Don't," Giles ordered. "There could be an ambush set up back there. A number of the Death Eaters already fled that way. And they probably have a portal erected at the edge of the grounds – it's the only way I can imagine they could bring those kinds of numbers here. I wish Professor Dumbledore were here - we need to approach this very carefully. Buffy, are you … Buffy?"

Buffy had already dashed to Willow, who was kneeling by Grey's side and crying. Jess was next to her, the tears dripping down her face as well. She looked at Buffy, her eyes vibrant with pain.

"He's almost dead, Slayer."

Willow placed her hands on his chest. Its movement was so small she almost missed it.

"What now?" she asked Tara.

"Just like I told you, sweetie. You can do it."

She began to chant. Tara put a hand on top of Willow's right, and Jess did the same on top of her left. All four hands started to glow as the other two picked up the rhythm.

The intensity of the chanting grew; Willow felt the warmth of the healing magic flow through her more and more. She realized it was working just as it was meant to.

"First time for everything," she said quietly. Buffy watched in awe as the glow moved up her arms and for a single instant covered Willow's entire body. When it receded, her hair was red again and her skin had returned to normal.

Another thirty seconds and the glow faded from her hands.

"Best we can do for now," Jess said. "We need to get him to Pomfrey; she can do more than us."

"But will it be enough?" Willow asked no one in particular.

*******************************************************

[Author's Note] 

::Exhale::  And thus ends the whole 'Not Without a Fight' storyline (though not FTGF, still a few more things to do before we say goodnight). First off, let me say I'm sorry for how long its taken to do this part. Hopefully, not too many people were discouraged into thinking I had given up. Definitely not. But the middle section of this whole arc gave me fits. I started these chapters 6 weeks ago, if you can believe it, and I knew exactly how I wanted it to end. I just couldn't get there. Argh.

So where am I headed with this, besides clueing you in to the not terribly exciting blocked process of writing? Nowhere. By the time I was done, I got in everything I wanted to, which was good. Spike kicking minotaur ass. Ron and Harry trying a spell without wands. Buffy telling Voldemort he looked like Skeletor. Good times.

Anyway, there's lots more I want to say, but I'll save it for the wrapup piece I'm going to stick at the end. (and if this goes to 90 chapters I will, to borrow from one of the great philosophers of our generation, have a cow, man). Just know that these 8 chapters were the hardest for me to write of the entire story (which is I think 200+ pages now. Yikes.)

That said, I would ask this one boon of all of you who have invested so much time getting to the point where you're reading this – PLEASE take the 30 seconds to let me know what you thought of this particular set of chapters (74-81). If you loved it, or even liked it a fair bit, that's grand. Say so (and thank you a thousand times for your kindness). If you hated it with a fiery passion normally reserved for llamas (watch out, they spit), fine. Say so (but for those, please say why, so I don't make the same mistake, or at least so I know what it was, in the future – random spewing of nastiness and vulgarities will be met with some dissatisfaction).

Once again, though, thanks to all of you who have read this far. It means more to me than you can imagine that you spend this much time reading something that came from my brain.

                                      -40


	82. Ripples

          Harry and Ron ran to the two girls, gathering them into their arms. Harry could feel Ginny shaking, and tears of relief rolled down his cheeks as heard her sobbing softly into his chest. It was over. They had won. _'Til he comes back again, with even more vampires and giants and other stuff_.

          He shook off the dire thoughts and stroked his hands through her hair. This was what mattered. They were safe. No one had died. Voldemort's time would come. Harry was sure of it.

          Over the top of Ginny's head, he caught Ron's eye. His friend held a shaking Hermione the same way he held Ginny, and their were tears on his face, too. Harry offered a little victory grin; it wasn't much, but Ron echoed it, and a second wave of relief washed over them.

          After a few minutes, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He gently disengaged, still holding Ginny close to him but with enough room to lift his head. The shoulder of his robe was sodden with tears.

          "You guys okay?" The hand belonged to Buffy.

          "We'll be fine. I'm sorry to say we've been through worse."

          "I know that feeling. At least there was no death. Death makes me cranky." She turned her gaze on Ginny and offered a small smile. "Especially my own. You okay, too? It's Ginny, right?"

          Ginny gave a half-shrug, half-nod and curled deeper into Harry's arms. "I-I'm fine. J-just need a m-minute or so to settle myself."

          "It's scary," Buffy said simply, "but you guys did good. Really good."

          "I guess," Harry replied. "Last time I try a spell without a wand, though."

          "Things sometimes don't go how you plan them," she agreed. "Listen, as soon as you're up for it, I need you guys to help out. Would that be alright?"

          Ron and Hermione heard her and stepped closer, their arms still wrapped tightly around each other.

          "What can we do?" Ron asked.

          "We're going to put some of our guys in with the professors guarding each dorm, in case Darth Vader makes a return appearance. Can you show them where to go?"

          Harry and Ron nodded their agreement, glad to have something to do. Hermione looked around the courtyard.

          "What happened to Willow and Tara?"

          "They took Grey to the infirmary."

          Three heads turned sharply. Harry had seen Willow healing him before they left.

          "He's alive?" Hermione asked.

          "Barely," Buffy answered quietly.

          "The lightsaber," Hermione said, looking at Ginny. "It must have protected him."

          "Giles said something about that, yeah."

          "Is he going to be okay?"

          Buffy hesitated before answering, but decided they deserved the truth.

          "I don't know. Giles was looking more than slightly wigged and seemed pretty much like the big clock was ticking to get back to the books."

          Hermione straightened up. "Are they researching?"

          "Full research mode," Buffy affirmed.

          "We have to help," Hermione said to Ginny, who nodded quickly. The redhead seemed to recover some of her fire with a task in front of her. "You two can do the other part without us," Hermione added.

          "Is that kid who was with you, the one with the sword…"

          "Neville," Ginny supplied.

          "Yeah, is he around?" Buffy asked.

          Harry pointed to where Neville and Spike were engaged in an animated discussion, complete with mock sword thrusts.

          "He lives with you, right? Can you send him over here?"

          "Yeah, he does. We'll do that," Harry said. He hugged Ginny one last time, and the four of them split up.

          "Good call, Buffy," Dawn said, coming up behind her. "They seemed a little wigged, and not without cause. What now?"

          "Now," she said with sisterly concern, "it's time for certain people to get inside where it's safe."

          "But Buffy…"

          "No buts, nibblet," Spike said as he lit a cigarette, following Neville over to the Summers women. "You need to be inside with the other kiddies, not out here where the nasties might be roamin'." He gesture to Neville, but raised an eyebrow. The young wizard was blatantly staring at Dawn. "Though you did a'right by that crossbow. Longbottom, you up for escort duty?"

          "Uh, what?" He looked at Spike, temporarily taken aback. He hadn't ever met Buffy or her sister before, but Spike had told them enough that he recognized them. Up close, Dawn was beautiful enough to be a little overwhelming, and he was having trouble focusing. He was, after all, still a teenage boy.

          "Need you to get the bit here safely to that tragedy of Victorian decoration you call the Common Room. Can ya do it?"

          "Oh. Yeah. Yes. Definitely." He regained a small piece of his composure. "Now?"

          "Yes, now," he said, glaring. "Something happens to her, your training will involve a lot less sparring and a lot more running up flights of steps. Got it?"

          "Oh, please, Spike. Like something's gonna happen inside Hogwarts after THAT." She turned to Neville. "Hi, I'm Dawn."

          "N-Neville."

          "I know. Spike told me. He's your Mr. Miyagi, right?"

          "Mr. Miyagi?" Neville asked.

          "Yah. Karate Kid? … Never mind, I'll explain on the way in," she said with a shake of her head. How could he not know Mr. Miyagi? She looped her arm through his. "You can give me the rundown on all the gossip about Willow and Tara and Spike."

          Buffy heard Neville say "G-Gossip?" as he and Dawn left for the building.

          "I almost feel bad for Neville," she said to Spike when they were out of earshot.

          "Aah, he's tougher than he looks, that one. He'll find some bottle in a few minutes and start talkin'."

          "Bottle?"

          "British for courage. You never heard the Watcher say bottle?" She shook her head. "Odd." He looked her over carefully. "You're not hurt, are you?"

          "No, I'm okay." The way he was looking her over made her a little twitchy. "Spike, listen …"

          "Don't worry, Slayer, the Big Bad wasn't about to make a move on you."

          "Not even close to what I was going to say. I was going to say, we need to check the forest for those wizards, and we need Angel to do it."

          "Bloody hell. Two minutes in, the Poof'll poof me for sure. Can't we find another way?"

          Spike and Angel stalked down the corridor, the former smoking a cigarette with a half-smile on his face and the latter looking even more glowery than usual. Angel had a nasty slice above his eye and some blood had crusted beneath Spike's nose.

          "Did you find anything?" Giles asked, noticing their condition right away. He had been waiting outside of the library for their return.

          "Go on, Peaches. Tell the Watcher what you found." He did nothing to hide his smirk.

          Angel growled in return. "Shut up, Spike."

          "No, come on, tell 'im."

          "Spike."

          Giles' frayed nerves had reached their limit. "While I appreciate that you gentlemen are in fact the Abbott and Costello of the vampire world, would one of you get on with it and tell me JUST WHAT THE HELL IT WAS YOU FOUND!" 

          Angel looked contrite, but Spike was still smirking.

          "We ran into a nasty that tried to take a bite out of the Slayer, but Poofulas here stopped it before it could."

          "Dear lord," Giles said. "What was it?"

          "Raccoon," Angel said softly, eliciting a howl of laughter from Spike.

          Giles shook his head in disgust and gave his glasses a quick swipe with his sweater. "Was there anything ELSE out there?"

          "No," Angel answered. "They left in a hurry and didn't drop much of a trail. We got to the edge of the grounds and all of the scents completely vanished."

          "Just as I thought. Some sort of transport spell."

          "Seems that way."

          "And Buffy?"

          "She went to check on Willow. Any change?"

          "Not as of an hour ago. Speaking of which, perhaps you two might assist us here? We're searching for some sort of cure, but it's awfully slow going."

          "What are yappin' out here for, then?" Spike brushed by them gruffly and stormed into the library.

          "He seems eager to help," Angel commented. His voice carried a less-than-subtle hint of skepticism.

          "He and Grey get on quite well. They've been training together for months. I would say that Spike considers him a friend."

          Angel nodded his understanding. Spike was many things, but to those people he cared about, he was loyal to a fault.

          "I would have thought that the three of you would not be the best tracking party right now." Giles knew that Buffy had taken them out together to settle the open hostility between them.

          "It wasn't the smoothest teamwork ever, but we got the job done."

          "And your feud with Spike? Would that be where the new cuts came from?"

          Angel wondered how Giles could be 200 years younger than him and still make him feel like he was speaking with his father.

          "Yes. … Well, from Buffy, so that we would back off. You know how she can be." He didn't seem terribly remorseful to Giles' ear.

          "Yes. And one of the things she can be is adult enough to make her own choices. I trust you understand that now."

          "I don't like it. The thought of them …" He paused, inhaling an unnecessary breath. "But, according to Buffy, I don't have to. We … live different lives now. I had no right to judge her like that."

          Giles could hear Buffy's admonitions in his voice, and suppressed a smile. She had very definitely grown up, he realized, to be able to put Angel in his place about this, when even she didn't know where things stood with Spike.

          "That is correct, Angel. And while I myself have major reservations about what has gone on, Buffy is free to live her own life."

          "I know." The admission sounded painful. "Do you think … will they start up again?"

          "Perhaps in time. But despite what we might wish, we have no control over that, do we?"


	83. Complications

          "Any change?"

          Xander's eyelids were drooping. He had been wandering back and forth to the infirmary for six hours. This was his first visitor since Harry, Ron, Neville and Dawn had come down a few hours before, and the distraction was more than welcome to keep him awake.

          "Sorry, Buff. Nothing. They've been in there for hours. I've been walking in every half-hour or so, but it's always the same. Willow and evil-girl sitting at his bedside, Tara and Nurse Betty muttering or chanting. But they all look the same – like it won't get any better. What about the others?"

          "No luck. Before I went out on the hunt, Giles was talking like it's all hunky dory but acting like if they don't find a cure soon, it'll all be irrelevant."

          Willow was cried out. She had never been so tired in her entire life. She grimly recalled feeling the same way before the fight with Voldemort even began. After hours of sobbing, all she could manage was to sit by the bed and hold Grey's limp hand.

          Tara and Madame Pomfrey had done their best; his vital signs had stabilized and his breathing was stronger, but no matter what they tried, they could not draw a response. Pomfrey kept saying that, except for the fact that he was still unconscious, he should be awake.

          If Jess knew anything helpful, she wasn't saying. The girl sat across from Willow, Grey's other hand in hers. She hadn't moved or spoken in hours.

          Tara crossed the room quietly and laid a hand on Willow's shoulder.

          "You should get some rest, Will."

          "Not moving."

          "If there's any change, we'll wake you. I promise. Just lay down in one of the empty beds for a little while." She gestured to one of the open beds; Dumbledore, also still unconscious, slept on obliviously in the bed next to Grey.

          Buffy opened the door and slipped inside just as Willow was shaking her head.

          "Hey, Wills," Buffy said. The redhead turned to greet her, eyes glazed and puffy. "How is he?" Buffy leaned down and hugged her friend tightly.

          "Not good, Buffy. It's like … it's like he's not even there."

          "That's what the spell does," Jess said, speaking for the first time. The other three girls looked at her in horror. "It separates the soul from the body, an' it does it violently. That's how it kills."

          "But he's not dead," Buffy said.

          Jess nodded. "I know, Slayer. I know."

          "W-what does that mean?" Tara asked.

          "I think it means the damage can be repaired," Giles told the assembled group. McGonagall, Hermione, Ginny, Angel, Wesley and Spike were all camped out in the library, trying to find instances where the Avada Kedavra curse had failed. 

          "But that's for failed death curses in general," McGonagall countered, pointing at the passage he was reading. "This curse is the most powerful of them, and it was cast by the most powerful dark wizard any of us have ever known, Rupert."

          "It's also thought to be unblockable, Minerva, and yet he is still alive."

          "How?" Angel asked. He had never heard of that curse being blocked.

          "The lightsaber," Giles answered. "Willow enhanced it with a very powerful protection spell. That must have deflected some of the damage."

          "So we know the Jedi's soul is still attached," Spike said, bringing the discussion back on track. "If it wasn't, he'd be as dead as me or Peaches. Which leads us back to our original question – why the hell won't he wake up?"

          "Maybe it's partially severed," Ginny offered in a tiny voice. The presence of two professors and two vampires had her more than a little intimidated, and she was still shaken from her hostage experience. She and Hermione had insisted, though, that they be allowed to help research. Ron, Harry, and Neville were in the Gryffindor common room, protecting Dawn and trying to rest before taking the second research shift in the morning.

          "What do you mean, Little Red?" Spike asked.

          "Well," she said, then cleared her throat and spoke in a normal voice, "if his body is healed but his soul isn't, which is what I believe I'm hearing you say, then his soul is probably the damaged part, right?"

          "We need to repair the cut," Jess said.

          "How do you repair a cut soul?" Buffy asked. "I'm thinking not Bactine or stitches."

          Jess didn't answer. Willow and Tara traded a look.

          "There are spells to fix damaged souls," Tara said after a long pause. "They're really dangerous and y-you have to be really powerful to make them work properly. I can't do th-that level of healing magic, and if you don't have enough power or skill … it can make things worse. A-and we'd need to know the specific spell to work on this, or …"

          "Or we'll kill him," Willow finished.

          Giles and McGonagall jumped on the logic of Ginny's assertions, both agreeing that she was most likely correct. The argument that erupted, though, was about what to do next. It drowned out all other conversation. Spike, though amused by the feuding professors, kept his eyes on Hermione. As soon as Ginny had said it, she had a revelation. He could see it in her body language; she quickly grabbed a book from the stack and hurriedly flipped through it. When she found the page she wanted, her finger skidded briskly across the text as she read.

          "Giles, I have it." Her voice was too soft to be heard over the shouting. "Giles, I've found it." They still ignored her, and she looked up, the shouting match finally registering in her brain.

          "HEY!"

          Hermione's shout shut them all up.

          "I have it."

          "What?" Giles asked.

          "For the fourth time, I've got it. The spell that will fix it." She handed him the text. "I saw this earlier in the year when we were looking for the _Spring Rain spell. The left-hand page, top entry."_

          Giles read the text and met her eyes. They were as grim as his own.

          "Oh dear."

          "Will, could you …"

          "Uh uh, Buff. I'm less down with the healing mojo than Tara. And the thing is, you could screw it up and never know until AFTER they woke up and started acting funny. Then we'd have a whole 'nother issue on our hands." Willow's strangled voice seemed to suck all hope from the room.

          Jess was still silent, staring at Grey's inert form.

          The door opened, and this time Giles, McGonagall, and Hermione came in. Giles had the volume in his hands.

          "I …" he paused, realizing that saying anything would raise Willow's hopes. He rearranged his phrasing delicately, then continued. "We think we know the problem."

          "Frayed soul?" Buffy said, trying to keep her voice light.

          "We think his soul has been partially … what was that, Buffy?"

          Willow impatiently brushed the exchange off.

          "His soul's torn, Giles. We … she," she pointed at Jess, "figured it out."

          "We have the spell that we think can repair the damage," Giles said, cursing himself as he saw the light of hope suddenly aflame in Willow's eyes. "But … Willow, you must understand … there are complications."

          "Show me." Her eyes were still green, but the frustration in them shown as fierce as Giles had ever seen, and he could tell she was struggling with her control.

          He handed her the text and pointed to the spell.

          "This one, the one called …"

          "_Merlin's Salve," Jess said from the other side of the bed._

          "Good Lord, you knew?"

          She nodded, still staring at Grey.

          "You knew? We've been sitting here for hours and you didn't say a word, but you knew?!?" Willow shouted at her, anger nearly boiling over. Buffy and Giles each put restraining hands on her.

          "Read it, Red," Jess said calmly. "Read it, then tell me why I didn't say anything. Go on," she said, waving her hand at the book.

          Willow picked up the book and scanned the cover. It was a spell diary of a wizard whose name had long since faded; she had seen similar books on the shelves, personal jottings about spell research that wizards kept for themselves and their students. 

          She began to read.

**_MERLIN'S SALVE_**

_Discovery date unknown_

_          Supposedly Druidic in origin, this spell emerged from Dark Age Britain in the hands of several Master Healers. Recorded successful uses of it are exceedingly rare, whereas spectacular failures are well-documented, if not numerous. The wizard Borthas supposedly healed his dying son following a raid by the Grannach Enclave on his home during the Spring of 1466. The boy was said to be struck with the Avada Kedavra curse through a layer of Borthas' most powerful protective wards, which prevented his instant death. Borthas, though he had the power to cast Merlin's Salve, lacked the expertise to execute it correctly. Everyone knows the consequences of this, of course. _

          Willow looked up. "Everyone knows the consequences?"

          Hermione fielded the question, answering in her lecture voice.

          "Borthas was a powerful healer in fifteenth-century Germany, famous all over Europe for his talents. Apparently, his son was supposed to follow in his footsteps, and had quite the talent for healing. About the Grannach Enclave I have no idea, except that they must have been powerful dark wizards to even approach Borthas' home. At any rate, his son ended up … changed after the healing. Corrupted. He became a wizard known as Ferocytas."

          "Oh my," McGonagall said. She knew of Borthas and Ferocytas, but hadn't known of their relation. Hermione had obviously been thorough in her research.

          "Yes, quite," Giles said. "Let me put it to you this way, Willow. One might not exaggerate in saying that Ferocytas was the Scourge of Europe before Angelus took over the mantle." 

          "Yikes," Willow said, turning back to the book.

          _Obviously, from my example it is clear that the miscasting of this spell can have disastrous effects on the intended target. Some have surmised that, other than human error, what most often goes wrong is the use of tainted magic. Only one with completely pure magic can perform the spell successfully, even if all of the necessary steps are completed. Should tainted magic be used, it appears to taint the target of the spell and permanently alter their personality. Tragically, this is believed to be irreversible._

_Of course it is nearly impossible for a wizard with experience enough to cast this to have never strayed into the territory of dark magic. I had hoped that the threshold would be reasonably high, but it appears that even a small dark spell will taint the caster enough to sabotage Merlin's Salve. This is unfortunate, as I fear it will thus never be able to be placed in widespread use against dark wizards._

_          Because it is so powerful, and its purpose so crucial, I have included instructions for its use. I pray that anyone who reads this after me proceeds with care._

_                                                In My Own Hand,_

_                                                          Lucitas Doppler_

_                                                          19 January, 1713_

          Reading the instructions that followed, Willow's hopes disappeared, her heart flattened like concrete for a new highway. No one could do this without someone who had done it before; it was complex and potentially deadly for the caster and the target. She looked at Jess with considerably more understanding than before.

          "I'm sorry … I didn't realize … thanks for not getting my hopes up, I guess."

          Jade eyes turned and met emerald ones.

          "So you know that you can't do it. And Blondie, she can't do it. Neither of you can save him, Red."

          Willow narrowed her eyes at the odd look on the girl's face.

          "But I can."

*********************************************

[Author's Note, Supplemental]

          So tempting to call these things captain's logs. But anyway … I just wanted to say **THANK YOU** for the enormous lovefest that was the reviews of the Not Without a Fight storyline. I got all giddy as they kept rolling in, and they totally blew my writer's block out of the water for the ending, as you can see by the quick post of 82-83 (with more on the way). I figured people would like some of it, and I was cautiously optimistic for some positiveness (positivity?) when I wrote my note, but that was way beyond what I had expected. Or what I could have expected. Or what a sane person would have hoped for. 

So to all of you (and not just recent reviewers, but the whole lot of people who have been supportive for months), I say one more time:

Wow. Thanks again. 

It's the fact that people other than me like this that has kept me going long enough to cross page 300 (which, according to my calculations, will be somewhere around Chapter 86). - 40 

P.S.: Okay, I know I have been only mediocre at answering questions in reviews (and those I did by email rather than A/N), and I'm sorry about that (and if you have ?s, email me!) but one came in that I thought needed a few words. One of the reviewers, Vld, asked who else had died in the Halloween attack, and then named a list of Hogwarts' finest. These are the questions that come up when you read this thing straight through, which I went back and did for the first time in months in response to that. 

The answer (and this was intentional, for plot flexibility) is: 13 unnamed students. Emphatically not anyone on your list (somewhere later on I know I mentioned Seamus in a Potions class); it's true I left them out of this story, mostly because a) I wasn't comfortable writing them at the time, while later there was no real good place put them in without it being more than a token appearance, and b) I had enough characters to handle already, and I'd rather I got the time to focus on Harry/Hermione/Ron/Ginny and Willow/Tara/Spike/Giles. As for Grey, I needed room to say who he was and use him to set up Jess. All in all, despite that I might have liked to do more with the 'school' aspect of Hogwarts, I'm okay with how it turned out. Besides, it's so freakin' long, I don't think it would have been good to expand it with more 'school' stuff. It is a bummer, though.

One other thing I realized that irked me: I forgot, way back in Chapter 9, to say that Dumbledore had enchanted Giles' cell phone. And one reviewer pointed it out at the time, and I still didn't catch it in the story. Sorry 'bout that. My excuse: I'm a moron. Sometimes I think of things and in my head I know them, but forget to translate them into the story itself as it goes on paper. I've actually gone back and done a bit of revising (only chapters 1 and 2 have been replaced, though), and will fix this on the next go round. Again, my apologies. Also, for those of you Spike fans out there, I added a scene to Chapter 1 with him in England prior to getting on the Hogwarts Express. Why? Because I wanted a fight scene early on in the story and dumbly never wrote one. Have no fear, though, none of my revisions change the plot at all. Mostly grammar fixes or moving a sentence around. -40


	84. How Far Will You Go

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Giles said.

          "I said I know how to cast it."

          Tara, Buffy, and Giles shared expressions of incredulity. The talisman at Willow's neck glowed with anger.

          Only McGonagall seemed unsurprised.

          "Albus taught you, didn't he? During those weeks you were here after graduation?"

          Jess nodded. "He thought there were some things I should know as an auror that were … outside the regular curriculum. Most of them, the Ministry would have had his arse for teaching to someone so novice."

          "Umm … hold on, not seeing why this is a problem," Buffy interjected. "I mean, this is a good thing, right? Circe here does her thing and Willow's honey's all healthy again."

          "Her magic is tainted, Buffy," Willow said through gritted teeth. "We'd have to remove the taint first, which," she glared at Jess, "we could do by force if we have to. Afterwards, I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help us."

          "Go ahead and try, Red," Jess challenged. The tension in the room rose several notches in an instant.

          "Actually, Willow," Hermione said tentatively, "we can't. We need her cooperation because of how it's bound."

          Willow's anger suddenly deflated as she realized the truth of Hermione's statement.

          "What was done must be undone from the inside," she remembered. They would need Jess to grant them access to her mind.

          "That's why you didn't say anything," McGonagall continued, speaking to Jess. "Because to do it, you'd need us to prepare you. If we cast the _Spring Rain_ spell on you, then your magic will be as pure as if you'd never cast a single spell." 

She nodded.

"You'll have to give up your power or watch him die."

Jess' head slumped to her chest.

"Yes."

          In the silence that followed, Willow felt a sympathetic pang for the sorceress. She knew how heady the feeling of power could be, and she had never embraced it. Giving it up was no small price.

          Hermione broke the reverie with a question none of the others had thought to ask.

          "But would you still be able to … perform it without the extra power?"

          "Maybe," she replied, her voice a whisper. "It's actually a two-man job. I'm a bit short o' the power to do it normally, I think; almost anyone is. But if Red or Blondie here can push some power through the Eye of the Golem, I could use that. Should be enough, then."

          Jess was silent for a long time after that, thinking about what she was giving up. All her power. All her dreams. Everything.

          Then her eyes found Grey, who seemed for all the world to be sleeping peacefully.

          _You have no idea the depths of my missing you._

          She turned to Willow.

          "If you hurt him after this, I'll cut your fucking heart out, goody-two-shoes or not."

          "He's still got his toys, I see," Jess said, her tone carrying more than a small amount of affection. She and Willow had decided to use Grey's room for the first spell; Tara, Giles, McGonagall, and Hermione were arranging materials in the library for the _Spring Rain encore. It had taken a massive application of the resolve face to make Giles allow her to enter Jess' mind; he had acquiesced eventually, mumbling something about how they would bring Grey back only to have Grey kill him._

          "You weren't kidding, Will," Xander said, eyeing the contents of the shelves. "This is stuff is great! I wish I had gotten up here last time." He was along to make sure they were undisturbed.

          "Comics are under the bed, Xander," Willow replied. "He gets bored easily," she told Jess.

          "For once, monitor duty, not a bad thing," he said, leaning down to pull one of the long white boxes free. "Just need some donuts and a tranq gun and we're back at Sunnydale High."

          "Who is this guy, again?"

          Anxiety lifted her voice to a higher octave than usual. "He's just Xander. He's my best friend since forever. He'll make sure no beastie gets the jump on us or anything, not that they could in the middle of Hogwarts, but better safe, you know?" 

          "Can't be too careful," Jess affirmed distractedly. She was giving Xander an appraising eye. What was it about her and cute dorks …

          "You ready?" Willow asked, jolting her back to reality. Jess' expression grew unreadable, then she nodded. "And you're … you're sure about this?"

          "No," Jess answered honestly. "But I'm doing it, and the longer we wait, the harder it is for me to go through with, so I'm thinkin' we should get to it."

          They sat facing each other in the chairs next to the cold fireplace. When they were comfortable, Willow met the sorceress' gaze and spoke the incantation aloud.

          Then she was somewhere else.

          Willow's head felt thick and her vision was blurred. The forest around her was all-consuming in its darkness, and she could feel the evil emanating from it. The tall pines encircled her completely, and she stood alone in a small clearing.

          She realized she couldn't feel her magic at all, and fear spread like cold water through her stomach and chest.

          "Ohhhkay," she said aloud, trying to clear the sudden fright away. "This seems not of the good."

          It didn't work. The scary feeling didn't recede, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. This felt nothing like when she was in Buffy's head.

          "That's because it's not," a warm voice said from behind her. She turned around. "There's evil here, rather than sorrow."

Grey.

Or at least, she thought it was Grey. He had on a dark blue dress robe and was leaning on a quarterstaff. And he had hair. Brown and knotted in unruly curls, falling down over his eyes. On close inspection, she realized he was younger than her Grey.

"Yep. I am indeed."

"Is it … is it really you?"

"No, Willow, I'm sorry. It's not." Then he smiled slightly. "This is how he was when she first met him. I guess you could say I'm her memory of Grey, which, just between us girls, is a lot more pleasant and probably a little more talented than the real thing."

"The hair is a nice touch. So is the robe."

"Thanks."

"So … um, not that I mind the company, but … why are you here?"

"Tour guide," he said simply. "Always valuable when you're in a very bad place."

"This is a very bad place? Oh, of course it is, duh, because hello evil vibes and big, dark trees. Plus, you know, evil witch's mind and all." She paused; he was smiling. "Sorry. I babble when I'm nervous."

"I see why he likes you, though. Come on." He lifted his hand and a gap appeared in the trees, complete with dirt road. "I'll explain as we walk." 

They ambled down the path, passing an endlessly monotonous row of evil trees as they did.

"See, Jess wants out, but she can't circumvent the spell. Voldemort's good that way," he said solemnly. "But how she feels about Grey, he couldn't keep that locked up, and it's been eating away at the spell for months. I can help you, because …"

"Being associated with Grey, the spell can't keep you down," Willow finished.

He nodded, pleased that she understood.

"Right. The way this is set up, as soon as I finish explaining, we're going to come to the place in her head that you have to fix. When that happens, I can't help you directly, because I'm still part of her mind. You see?"

"So if you weren't here…"

"Remember in Buffy's head? How it jumped right to what she wanted you to see? That would have happened here, and you would have been in big trouble."

"How do you know about that?"

"Our minds are linked, now. I can see things about you that you're forcing to the surface of your thoughts, and … hey! No need for that!"

Willow blushed up to the tips of her ears. "Sorry! Sorry! Just, you said that and I didn't want you to see it and so the image popped up in my head …"

Grey laughed.

"It's alright. Let's just skip that discussion, though, okay?" Willow nodded vigorously. "Good. Now, are you ready?"

"One question first?"

"Sure."

"Where's my magic? I'm feeling sorta …"

"Naked without it?" She nodded again. "Sorry about that. Problem is, all of your power is tied up in keeping you here, and you're in someone else's mind. You're really pretty powerless. You need to figure out what's happening here, but you can't personally affect it much."

He was leaving something out on purpose, she knew, but she couldn't think of a way to get it from him, so she let it go.

"Okay."

"Ready now?"

She took a deep breath, not knowing what else to ask.

"Yeah. Send me in."

"Good luck," the image said solemnly. "For all three of our sakes."

Then she was somewhere else.

"Another forest," she muttered. "Damn."

The first thing she noticed was the storm, a torrent of howling wind and rain that stung her eyes and drenched her clothes. The next thing she saw were the spells.

Her recently acquired knowledge told her what each one was, and she watched as they rocketed from Jess' wand, one after another. The witch looked downright heroic in her dark robe, black hair streaming out behind her and the sky around her crackling with magic. The image seemed slightly out of place in Willow's mind, but then, she had only known the evil version.

"Jess, you have to back off!" Grey screamed over the howling wind. He had on his blue-on-blue ensemble, jeans and sweatshirt, and his hair had once again vanished. He was also, much to her surprise, wearing a pair of sunglasses, even though it was really dark.

"I've got it, I've got it. Just be ready," she shouted back.

Willow watched as he shook his head and grabbed her free hand. The pair were only twenty yards away from her; an image of Voldemort stood beyond them, but somehow, Willow could tell that it wasn't real. She saw a long silver chord floating out of its back.

"Listen to me! This is a bad idea. We need to back off and get help! He's not as wounded as we thought. Jess, please!"

Grey's voice was full of fear as Jess wrested her hand from his and shoved him away. A low rumbling sound filled the air, but neither Jess nor Grey reacted to it. It sounded like … laughter.

For a fraction of a second Jess turned her head to the right angle, and Willow saw her eyes turn black. Grey gasped, the noise audible even over the wind. A black tendril of magic snaked its way through the air, latching on to Jess' chest. She didn't notice it, but Grey did.

Then he turned to Willow.

"Follow it," he whispered, his voice somehow even louder than the shouting had been. "Break her free."

Willow wanted to answer, but Grey had already returned to his place in the memory and was oblivious to her. She ran forward, following the strand of black magic as far as it would take her. It led onto a path similar to the one she had walked before; this one was nowhere near as endless. After a few short minutes, she stepped out of the storm and into another clearing. 

The air inside the circle tingled with evil.

A more solid image of Voldemort held the end of the magic she had been following, his red eyes glowing in the dim light. This was the real thing, not the one she had seen first.

"Aah, Willow," he said, his voice just as raspy as his real world counterpart. "So good to see you. I believe you've met my other guests?"

Two women stepped out from the shadows behind him. The first one she recognized easily: it was Jess, as she had appeared on Halloween, black dress and all. Then she saw the other one and gaped.

"That's … that's … it's me?"

"That's right, cutie," the other Willow said. Her voice was oddly flat and disaffected. Her hair was black and her skin pale, as the real Willow knew that hers had been several hours before. She was dressed in dark, tight-fitting pants and a dark denim jacket. "Well, not really. See, I'm what you could be, if you just gave yourself a little relief from that repressed little nerd-girl thing you have going on."

"I'm not a nerd," Willow said petulantly.

"Don't tell me, honey. Tell yourself. I'm just a reflection of you, that's all."

The real Willow spun and glared at Voldemort.

"What is this? This isn't about me! This is about her!" She pointed to the image of Jess.

"Please, Willow, don't be so foolish," Voldemort said, an eerie grin on his face. "Did you think I wouldn't know that they would send you in here? Of course I did, and some time ago, I prepared this special reception. I know that you long to let your dark side out far more than Precious ever did, and I can help you with that."

"You're lying," Willow said. "You couldn't know I'd be here. You don't know anything about me."

"Really? Nothing at all?" He threw his gaunt head back and laughed, exposing gray teeth. "Let me show you what it is I don't know about who you really are."

He waved his hands and a circle of white light appeared in front of him. The white light faded and images flashed across it like a television screen. Willow watched as it showed her and Tara talking in the hallway of Buffy's house. She reflexively smiled; she couldn't remember the conversation, but it was clear they were both happy. Tara seemed to glow like she used to when they had just been to bed together.

Then Willow heard a crack and Tara's chest exploded in red.

"No…" Her hand involuntarily rose to her mouth, her tongue accidentally brushing a finger. It tasted coppery, like when Xander would dare her to put a penny in her mouth as a kid. She looked down; blood soaked the white shirt she suddenly wore. Her hands were bathed in it. "Tara? Baby? What…"

Her eyes turned black.

"If you've hurt Tara…"

"Oh no, Willow, not me. Watch."

The magic screen rolled through a series of images: Warren firing random shots from a handgun … Buffy bleeding on the ground as Xander looked on with panic … Willow draining the books in the Magic Box as text swirled over her skin … Her dark counterpart rushing through the forest … Warren running for his life … Warren's skin being peeled off in one swift motion …

Bile rose in Willow's throat. Would she do that? Could she? Somewhere deep down, she felt the unpleasant answer and fought the urge to scream.

Grey's voice interrupted the nightmare.

"These aren't real, Willow. Tara's alive. Buffy's fine. Trust yourself."

"What is that?" Voldemort cried. "Who dares to interrupt?"

The pause shattered his hold on her. Willow closed her eyes and pictured the scene in the infirmary. Tara and Buffy comforting her, both alive and unharmed. Grey lying hurt in the hospital bed, but still not dead. They could fix him … if she could right this ship.

Something changed. For the first time since arriving in the forest, Willow felt her power well up from inside herself. She imagined herself wearing clean clothing, Tara's blood all gone and back in her body where it was meant to be. When she looked down, her shirt was starkly white. The coppery taste had even left her mouth. She pointed to her pale counterpart.

"That isn't real. Tara's alive, and you aren't me. I HAVE control. So buzz off, wicked witch." The doppelganger disappeared, as did the image screen.

"That's not possible," Voldemort said, aghast. "You have no power here."

"Nope," Willow said with a smile, finally understanding what was going on. "But she does," Willow added, pointing to the image of Jess. "And she loves Grey more than she loves the magic, so she gave me some to kick your ass. And, here's the real zinger, buddy: you aren't real. You're just my mind translating Voldemort's spell into a form I can perceive. So I CAN kick your ass if I want to, because I get that." She raised her hand. "But it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as doing this."

Willow snapped her fingers. 

The image of Jess vanished and the forest around them shattered like glass. Willow and Voldemort were left standing in the middle of a vast white space.

"Cool. It's like the White album. Except it's a room."

"This can't be," Voldemort said, amazed.

Another image of Jess came into focus next to Willow. This one wore a simple white wizard's robe; her face looked young and fresh, with her lustrous black hair bound up in a ponytail behind her. Her eyes were jade green and shining, and she was gorgeous.

_Too bad I'm off girls, Willow thought fleetingly._

"Sure and I'll take that as a compliment," Jess said without turning her head. She stared Voldemort down.

"Very impressive, Precious," he said with a nod of concession.

When she spoke, her voice came out dead calm.

"Get out of my head, you bastard."

Willow smiled faintly.

Then she was somewhere else.

Willow blinked. She was back in Grey's room. Xander was asleep, stretched out at the foot of Grey's bed with an issue of Batman open on his chest. Jess sat still for another few seconds, then lurched off the chair to her knees.

"Oh God," she moaned. The memories of the past year all rose up at once, and she did the only thing she could.

She grabbed the wastebasket and vomited.


	85. Cleaning Up the Mess

Tara and Giles were waiting when Willow and Xander came out of Grey's room.

"Everything is alright, I trust?"

"Yeah, Giles," Willow said. "Mission accomplished." She looked at Tara and suddenly the coppery taste of the blood was on her tongue. She grabbed the blonde witch in a tight hug.

"What was that for?"

"I'll explain later. Bad nightmare." Tara nodded.

"And … Miss O'Brien?" Giles asked with a delicately-raised British eyebrow.

"She's taking a little break right now," Xander said. "I think she had some bad shellfish or something." Willow punched him on the arm. "Hey!"

"She's back in the not evil club," Willow affirmed, shooting Xander an annoyed glance. "Or at least close to it. She's gonna have Angel-esque guilt, I think, and, uh…"

"It made me lose my breakfast," Jess said as she emerged, pale and drawn, into the hallway. "Though I'm not sure what Angel-esque is. Let's say I'm not feeling too hot just yet. The evil part of this shite is done with, but until we do the _Spring Rain_, I still can't heal Grey. Is everything ready?"

Giles and Tara both nodded, amazed at the change in the girl's bearing and demeanor. Before, she had been fierce and haughty. S_he seems almost … broken_, Giles thought with a pang of pity, _despite her resolve_.

"Let's get it done, then."

          The preparations were indeed complete. Tara, Ginny, Hermione, and McGonagall each held a lit candle at one of the five points of a star drawn in sand on the library floor. Willow would occupy the north point, while Jess sat in the center. As they moved to sit down, Jess grabbed Willow's arm. Her hands were shaking.

          "Red … Willow, I just wanted to thank you. Just in case," she gestured to the sanded star, "something goes wrong. I appreciate what you did for me."

          "You're welcome," Willow replied simply. "I did it …"

          "For Grey, I know. But …"

          "I was going to say because I could," Willow finished. "From what Grey's told me, you would have done the same."

          "I'd like to think so. Believe me, I would." They shared a smile before taking their respective places. 

Willow looked the assembled group over one by one. Hermione and Ginny could barely control their excitement at being included in something so important. Willow had opted for them rather than Snape and Flitwick; after the joint effort with Grey's lightsaber, she knew the two girls trusted her implicitly to keep them safe. Familiarity would be important if something went wrong.

Along with McGonagall, whose pinched face didn't betray her strong apprehension, they had candles in one hand and wands in the other. Tara had the Eye of the Golem around her neck and a candle in her hands. She seemed calm in the face of the impending risk.

          "Everybody ready? Questions on the game plan?" Five heads shook. "Hermione, you're sure about this? When we tried it before …"

          "Yes," she said confidently. "It should work fine, as long as the rhythmic resonance is identical from the three of us," she gestured to herself, McGonagall, and Ginny, "then the energy should flow from our wands with no difficulty. I believe that's the problem Tara and Professor Dumbledore encountered earlier; if Professor McGonagall sets the pace and tone, we should be able to match it fairly simply, as will Tara." McGonagall nodded; they had already worked this out. "I wish we had time to practice," Hermione said with a shrug, "but we must do it now. The longer Grey remains injured, the more difficult it will be for you to revive him, Miss O'Brien."

          "Call me Jess, hon," the auror said, "Miss O'Brien's my spinster sister."

          Hermione nodded. The complete reversal of attitude was more than a little disconcerting.

          "Alright," Willow said, "that's the what, then. Tara, you'll channel their power into that thing, and when it comes out the other side, I'll make with the hocus pocus," she added, trying to lighten the mood.

          "Don't fry me, Willow," Jess said pointedly. "I've heard of this spell going badly wrong because the energy wasn't regulated properly in the last stage."

          "I'll be careful," Willow promised. She was more worried about not keeping her own power in check than she was about that part. The slightest bit of her tainted magic would wreck the spell. "Ready?"

          They nodded.

          "'Kay." She took a deep breath and quieted her mind. They couldn't screw this up if Grey were to live. "Let's do this."

McGonagall spoke an incantation, then started the chant. The power built up fast. Almost before Willow was ready, her hair stood on end and tiny bolts of electricity jumped from candle to candle.

          "This is potentially very dangerous, Rupert." Giles nodded. Wesley wasn't opposed, he knew, just concerned. "I must say, though, that your training program for Willow worked remarkably. She was very, very close to a troublesome edge earlier."

          "I agree. The training and the artifact she wears did the job nicely. The absence of either of those … I shudder to think."

          They stood outside the library, listening to the background chanting of the spell and drinking mugs of tea Winky had brought for them.

          "Yes, I noticed her necklace glowing before. What does it do?" Giles explained briefly. "Interesting. Very interesting."

          They stood silently for a few minutes, feeling the power build around them.

          "Thank you again for all of your help, as well. I must admit," Giles said cautiously, "you seem a bit different than the man I remember."

          "It's been a lengthy few years," Wesley said, absently reaching up and brushing the scar across his throat with his fingertips.

          "Yes, I've … heard some of the story. I was a bit surprised to see you here with Angel's people, at any rate."

          "They are still friends, Rupert. Just," he paused, sadness in his eyes, "not quite as close as they once were. Besides, Angel called me directly when Cordelia had her vision. He wanted to inform me that I would have to pick up some of the slack."

          "Yes, I had heard you were operating semi-independently."

          "Well, yes. But when the situation was explained …" He trailed off, looking down the darkened corridor at some distant spot. "I feet quite badly about my tenure in Sunnydale, and particularly about the episode with Willow. What else could I do?"

          "I understand," Giles said, placing a sympathetic hand on Wesley's shoulder. "You did the right thing this time. I, for one, think that is what's important."

          For the first time since he strode into the Sunnydale High library years before, Wesley felt the tension between them ease. He turned and looked at Giles with a new respect.

          "Thank you for that."

          Hermione had been dead on about the Eye of the Golem. Three silver ribbons linked the three wands to it; Tara's hands glowed the same color, and her eyes were milky white. The chanting continued unhindered as a silver ball, no more than six inches across, formed over Jess' head.

          Willow mentally reached out and caressed it, not altering or moving it but simply exploring it. She had never felt magic power coalescing like this, in physical form, and doubt suddenly flared in her mind. What if it got loose? What if she couldn't control it without tainting it? What if …

          "Don't," came Jess' faintly accented voice. She watched the panic cross Willow's face, the depth of it evident even with the redhead's eyes closed. "You'll be fine if you just relax. When Tara stops the power, you say the words an' all will be right in the world." 

          Willow nodded, her face pinched in concentration. In her mind's eye, she could see what Jess saw in the air – the silver mass was growing fast. 

So far, so good.

They continued apace for five more minutes before McGonagall felt that the power had built up enough. The floating silver ball was now a silver disc eight feet across at its widest point. She stopped chanting; Ginny and Hermione quickly followed her lead, and all three connections to the Eye were broken.

Tara continued to chant, and, fed by her power, the growth continued unabated. Willow struggled to keep it contained as it expanded, using the same willpower tricks she used to float pencils to keep the energy stable.

"Tara," McGonagall said tentatively. "Tara, we have enough power now. You can stop."

She kept chanting.

          "Too … much," Willow squeaked out through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped over her closed eyes and tickled her cheeks.

          "Tara?" Hermione said, her voice more than a little afraid. "Tara, we have enough."

          "Stop … her," Willow forced out. "Can't … cast 'til she … stops feeding it."

          The thrumming of the energy grew noticeably louder. The room began to vibrate audibly. A lamp on one of the research tables tinkled as a glass pane shattered.

          "Professor, how?" Ginny asked McGonagall.

          The door rattled in its frame. A tiny burst of silver shot from the energy cloud, turning a chair to dust.

          Willow's face had turned bright red; her whole body shook with the effort.

          "Release the clasp on the necklace!" Jess shouted from the center. She was powerless to help. "Yank that thing off her!"

          "ALOHAMORA!" Hermione cast; the spell popped the chain free, but the Eye remained in place.

          "ACCIO NECKLACE!"

          The Eye flew from Tara's chest, landing in Ginny's outstretched hand and burning her skin fiercely. She tossed it into the corner, then fell over clutching her hand in pain.

          With her eyes closed, all Willow could make out were the spells and then the sound of a fierce crash. She could feel the energy stop flowing the moment the necklace left Tara's grasp, and wasted no time before incanting:

_Once lost in night,_

_Now found in light,_

_Here breathed the dark,_

_Through us we mark,_

_With cleansing fire,_

_That dark retire._

          As Willow spoke the last of the atrocious verse, the silver cloud reacted. Like lightning, a finger of energy struck Jess painfully on the forehead. Then another, and a third in rapid succession. Above her, the energy twisted into a funnel; more small strikes hammered her body, feeling like pinpricks to her but looking to the others like the vengeance of an angry Zeus.

          Then the room exploded with a flash of white light, and no one could see what happened.


	86. Healing

Draco Malfoy could see the sparks flying in the library from the roof.

"You should be in the common room with the others, Mr. Malfoy," the familiar voice called from the stairwell. "You know how I dislike taking points from Slytherin students for stupid infractions."

Lost in thought, Malfoy didn't answer Snape immediately. He had missed seeing the battle, trapped inside by Snape's presence in the common room. The only action he had seen was a quick trip through the fireplace to California, which, he admitted to himself, had been unusual enough. He had been very surprised to see nine people waiting for them instead of three, and the justification that that Cordelia woman had a vision about it was less than settling. But the string of odd occurrences hadn't brought him out here. 

No, it was the being left out of the fight that had Draco angry as hell and needing the night air to cool off. Especially when he could have had a crack at his father …

          "Draco?" Snape said.

          "Sorry, Professor," Malfoy said, gathering his winter cloak from the ground. The night had less of a chill than he expected, one of the consequences of the rising spring. "I just needed some time to think."

          "I understand," Snape said, exiting the stairwell. He knew how frustrated Malfoy must feel; he felt it himself. "Our position was not an easy one."

          Draco watched the blank expression on Snape's face and realized that the blankness was what passed for sympathy from him.

          "Might I ask … never mind," Draco said, realizing that the Potions Master was in a similarly foul mood and thus not inclined to discuss anything.

          Snape understood immediately what Draco wanted to know, but he was not a man who answered such questions very easily, even if there positions were similar. On the other hand, he genuinely liked Draco, even moreso now that he was committing himself to opposing Voldemort. If he could help with that commitment … 

          "Go ahead. Ask."

          "I'm just wondering what I should do next. It's likely to be an ugly scene when I arrive home for the summer holidays, assuming my father isn't captured or dead. I don't know quite how to handle the fact that he's a murderous crackpot, is what I'm saying," he finished softly. "I don't know how to pretend I don't know that about him."

          "And you're not one, that's what you're saying as well."

          "Hell no," Draco said instantly.

          "Tell me, Draco," Snape asked, his dark eyes boring into the boy's eyes, "what purpose would pretending anything serve? What do you wish to accomplish with that deception?"

          "It's not wishing to do something, so much as it is that I know they must be stopped. My father, Pettigrew, Voldemort. All of them. They're …" A sharp bang from the library caused him to jump back, but Snape stood motionless and unruffled. "Cor, they're havin' a time." He looked Snape in the eye. It was good to talk with someone about this, someone who understood completely. "I guess, Professor, the problem is simply how do I put the most hurt on them without becoming the victim of the week."

          "It could be awkward to outright oppose your father," Snape agreed. He paused, a thought percolating in his brain that almost garnered an evil smile. "He was going to initiate you as a Death Eater this summer, was he not?"

          "Yes," Malfoy said disgustedly. He had been looking forward to it, too. As if it was some sort of kid's game.

          "I doubt he will, after the events of this year," Snape said. Horror flashed on Malfoy's face. "I mean the ones where he knows of your resistance, of course, not last night's events. Halloween, and the night of the attack on Cansbury."

          Relieved, Malfoy nodded his understanding.

          "Tell me, Draco, what will happen upon your return home?"

          "I expect he'll beat me within an inch of my life," Draco answered in an even voice. "But … after that, I assume nothing out of the ordinary. Like you said, he doesn't know about the things I've done to muck up his plans directly. You could put it all on trying to stay alive. Even the night the Death Eaters stormed the castle, the only ones who know of me doing anything have been incarcerated."

          "Mmmm … yes," Snape mumbled, apparently still deep in thought. Then he inspected Draco with eyes as hard as diamonds. "Answer me this: Could you tolerate being beaten within an inch of your life? If it meant that afterwards, we could mold you into the type of man he wants?"

          "I told you …" Draco said indignantly. Snape didn't let him finish.

          "In appearance, only, Draco. In appearance, only. If we can convince him of your fealty, it would go a long way towards restoring you to a trusted position and access to a great deal of inside information, would it not?"

          The hallway lit up like day when the energy flashed. In a thoroughly un-British moment of abandon, Giles and Wesley burst through the door to see what had happened.

          Except for the dusted chair and shattered lamp from earlier, everything stood in perfect order. Tara, breathing heavy and eyes closed, sat cross-legged at her point of the star. Willow lay flat on her back, her own breath coming in great heaving gasps beneath damp strings of red hair. McGonagall had Ginny's burnt hand in her own, examining the damage while Hermione looked on with concern.

          "Is everything alright?" Giles asked, taking in the minor damage and then glancing at Jess. The auror sat in the middle of the star, a circle of fine black soot spread around her.

"Dandy, Watcher. Yourself?" Jess asked playfully. The spell had left her euphoric, a combination adrenaline rush/giddy ecstacy that was washing over her in waves.

Then she remembered Tara.

          In an instant, she was out of her seat and kneeling at the blonde witch's side.

          "Hey, Tara? Tara, are you in there?"

          The blonde witch slowly opened her eyes. The pupils remained white. Her voice emerged unnaturally low.

"Still here. The-the p-power … so i-intense …"

          "The spell's over, hon. It worked. I'm totally dark magic free."

          "G-good," Tara said genuinely. She closed her eyes again and took several deep breaths. The magic was coursing through her and it wouldn't go away, lingering like the scary rush from riding a roller coaster.

"Are you …"

"I'm … okay," she breathed. "M-magic rush b-but no permanent damage, thanks to some q-quick th-thinking. Thank you so much," she said to Ginny and Hermione.

          "You're welcome," Hermione said for both of them.

          "Uhhhh…" Willow moaned from the floor, where she lay partially passed out. Wesley hurried over and checked her pulse, which was strong. "She seems alright, Giles. Just a bit shaken, I think. And tired, of course."

          "We need to get Ginny to Madame Pomfrey," McGonagall said. "This burn isn't serious, but it must hurt like the devil." Ginny nodded, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out.

          "Burn?" Giles asked. "From what?" McGonagall explained about the Eye and the succession of spells. "Dear lord. By all means take her there. We'll see to the girls here."

          Hermione, McGonagall, and Ginny rose to leave. Just as they reached the door, Jess called out.

"Ginny? 

"Yeah?"

"My thanks, too. "

"You're welcome," Ginny squeezed out through the pain. McGonagall led them off to the infirmary.

          "Think they'll pull it off?"

          Spike looked up in surprise. They had been standing guard in the infirmary for two solid hours, and these were Buffy's first words to him. She had completely avoided his questions and looks, settling instead into uncomfortable silence.

          "Reckon they will. Red and Glinda can handle themselves."

          "I hope they aren't in too much danger."

          "Some," Spike allowed. "But they don't have a lot o' choice, do they?"

          "Love makes you do the wacky," she breathed quietly.

          "Tell me about it," he grumbled. They both went silent for a time, watching the still forms of Grey and Dumbledore.

          "Buffy?"

          She raised an eyebrow at the use of her name, but Spike wasn't looking her way. He was staring off into the night outside the window.

          "Thought you should know I'm not headed for Sunnyhell when school's out."

          "No?" She couldn't quite hide the pain and anger that flared in her mind. Or the disappointment that she desperately didn't want to feel.

          "No." Spike felt a surge of joy as he heard her tone, but suppressed it. _Best if she gets no answers from you, you nancy-boy_, he chided himself.

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. It only made her more angry. "Why not? I know you don't have anything better to do."

          "I do, actually, Slayer. Important things. Bloody wacky things," he added under his breath.

          "What the hell is that …" The conversation was cut short as Hermione, Ginny, and Professor McGonagall came through the door. Instead of finishing her question, Buffy simply glared at Spike.

          He stared back impassively, steeling himself against the torrent of emotions whirling in his head.

          "… need to run down to Snape's dungeon and grab some of the ingredients. Then we can fix him," Willow heard someone say. The room was a fuzzy blur of colors and motion, and she quickly shut her eyes again. The comforting feel of Giles' wool sweater swallowed the back of her head as she lay on the floor listening.

          "Are you certain that you wouldn't prefer to prepare a bit more thoroughly?" _English voice, not Giles. Not Hogwarts … must be Wesley_, Willow concluded.

          "Sorry … it's Wesley, yeah? Sorry, Wesley. We have no time for that. I can do it – Dumbledore was very precise in his instruction." _Wow, she sounds confident. That's very much of the good._

          "Tara," Giles said, his voice obviously concerned, "will you be able to assist her? I don't think Willow is any shape to contribute." 

_Oh, thanks, Giles. Give me a minute, I'll be …_ "Uhhh…" Willow moaned again as a wave of nausea hit her. She felt a soft hand on her own, then the low rumble of chanting, and then …

"She's asleep now," Tara said, removing her hand from Willow's. "I don't know how she was keeping herself awake, w-with the amount of energy she's used today."

"How about you, my dear?" Giles asked. "You've expended a great deal yourself, and I imagine that episode with the Eye … well, you must be exhausted."

Tara shook her head. "I-I'm tired, but not too bad. Most of the energy that went th-through the-the Eye came from the others. It only started sucking energy from me when they stopped. I-I don't think w-we can use it on Grey's healing spell, though," she added, giving Jess an apologetic glance.

"No?"

"No. I th-think it was meant to be used by multiple sources or s-something … I'm n-n-not sure. But one p-person shouldn't use it." She shivered, recalling the grasping feel of it pulling the magic from her reluctant body. If Ginny hadn't stopped her… "I-I think it could be really dangerous."

"So what will you do to power the spell?" Wesley interjected, speaking to Jess directly. She mentally turned the question over a few times before answering.

"I guess I'll try it alone." Before they could ask the questions that appeared on their faces, she held up a hand. "Before you tell me it won't work, think of this – if I do it right, but don't have enough power, it'll fizzle an' won't work. But it shouldn't harm him. While I do that, you lot can use your big brains and find a way for us to up the voltage if we have to. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose," Giles offered cautiously. The woman seemed confident of her abilities in a far less predatory way than before they had freed her. Clearly, she would avoid a course of action that would injure Grey; she would be far more aggressive in protecting him than Giles himself would, for obvious reasons. At least, that was the theory they had proceeded on. And Grey's life, the Watcher reminded himself, now hung on whether the theory had been correct.

Jess watched the thoughts play across the Watcher's face and knew he was deciding how much they could trust her.

"Let's make one thing real clear, Mr. Giles: Grey might be with Willow now, but he's still my partner. I've known him longer than any of you. We've been through a lot together, and he trusts my judgment. The past year notwithstanding." Giles thought he heard her voice shake slightly on the last part. "I'm tellin' you straight out, this won't hurt him if the only problem is that I don't have the power."

She looked up at him, and for the first time, he saw the haunted look in her eyes.

"I still love him. I always did. Even when that evil son of a bitch turned me into a sordid female version of him, I loved Grey like I always had." She paused as tears came into her eyes and her throat started to close. It was a full minute before she could speak again. 

"You can't imagine the things I did to him. But he saved me anyway. He didn't let go, and he wouldn't have, if he hadn't been hurt." Her voice turned defiant, and Giles remembered in that moment that she had been an outstanding auror for reasons that had little to do with her magical skill. 

"It doesn't matter. I'm doing it anyway, and if you try and stop me, you won't be able to."

"I believe you're right," Giles said, "if I were to try. But I won't," he finished after a pause, "and we had best hurry if we're to prevent him from slipping away."


	87. All Around the Afterlife

          Grey was a little surprised.

          He remembered the battle, remembered Voldemort lining his wand up on Willow, and distinctly remembered the green-on-blue flash of blocking the spell. Then nothing but the empty passage of time. 

          Until now.

          But this didn't make any sense either. He hadn't been to Boston in years, and when he had gone, it had been for his Aunt Lucy's funeral. He certainly hadn't been here, sitting on a bench on the Common. Plus, it had been summer, and from the chill in the air and bits of snow scattered around, this most definitely was early spring.

          He brushed his hand against his leg; the dark blue jeans felt real enough, but his lightsaber was missing.

          "Fantastic," he said aloud sarcastically, even though the chances of evil attacking him in public in the middle of the day were slim. His voice had a strange echoey quality to it.

          Glancing around to see if anyone had heard him, he realized he was alone. Completely alone. No rollerbladers traversing the paths, no homeless people stretched out on the benches, no cops eagerly ticketing parked cars.

          No cars at all, for that matter.

          The lack of ambient sound was so creepy that he began to hum, just to hear something other than his thoughts.

          "Yer not much with the music, are yeh? No tune at all ta yer hummin'. Can't say I'm surprised, though - ain't got much o' that in yer family."

          The voice, a nasally rasp of country English, came from behind Grey. He stood and spun around, startled by the sudden sound. A man about his own height stood in a spot that had been empty seconds before, dressed in a ratty blue dress robe. The man's jowly face and slightly squashed nose were framed by an unruly mop of black hair. A lightsaber swung from his side, looped into a brown leather holster that cut across his chest. 

          "Do I know you?" The man gave off a strange vibe of familiarity, but Grey couldn't place him.

          "Nope. Never did meet me. Yeh know my son, though." He let out an off-kilter cackle at his statement, the harsh sound rattling through the empty air. "Oh c'mon, sonny, let yer guard down a bit. I'm not here ta hurt ya, and if I was, what could yeh really do?"

          Grey looked down. He had automatically shifted into a combat stance, but he was completely unarmed. The lightsaber would carve him up before he got close.

          "So what do you want?" he asked, conceding nothing.

          "Rebellious. That's good. Yeh need that." The small man suddenly walked in a circle around Grey, still keeping a good ten feet between them while looking him over. "Need the fightin', too. Did a good job with that, yer aunt did."

          "How do you know about my aunt?"

          "I should. She was my bleedin' daughter." He smiled, showing crooked teeth.

          Stunned speechless, Grey froze.

          "Oh c'mon, it's not that surprisin', is it? They al'ays send family to do these pickups."

          "P-pickups?"

          "Yeah, a'course. Yeh think Voldemort hits yeh with the killin' curse and yeh live through it?"

          "And you're my … my grandfather?"

          "Yep. Name's Ed, but I guess grandpa would do me right." He showed the teeth again. "And if yer wonderin', yeh hafta come with me. Yeh did the noble thing, which yeh were meant ta do, and now yeh take yer leave." The smile disappeared, and he looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry about tha', but the Powers That Be make the rules. Me an' Lucy, we're right proud of what yeh did. Robert will be, when he hears, and yer mother as well."

          "But yeh hafta come now. The alternative's not fer you, 'cuz a how yeh died. An' yeh wouldn't want it if yeh could. So yer on yer way up. That's the rules."

          "Then we're changing the rules," said an Irish voice behind them. Grey caught a small flash of another smile on his grandfather's face before he whirled around.

          Jess' auror's cloak billowed out around her. She brandished her wand like a sword, pointing it at Grey's grandfather menacingly. Her jade eyes sparkled with grim determination, framed by her thick mane of jet black hair.

          Grey breathed a long sigh of relief. THIS was Jess. The real thing. And she had his back. _Thank you, Willow and Tara, he thought silently._

          "Yer tha' O'Brien girl. I've heard o'yeh," Ed said, his volume normal but his voice somehow audible to her twenty feet away. Grey took the opportunity to step out of her line of fire. "Put the wand down, girl. No knockdown bouts here; the Powers don't like it, an' I'm not yer enemy."

          "I won't let you take him," she said forcefully.

          "Fact is, that's a misnomer. S'not takin'. Never. S'always a choice, jus' not usually two options this good. Did the _Merlin's Salve_ after all, didn'tcha?" She nodded. "Good work, tha'. It's a tough one, I've heard. Had a friend … eh, but you don't need ta be hearin' tall tales from a dead auror, do yeh?"

          "I don't think we've much time."

          "No, yeh don't." He turned to his grandson. "So, now yeh've got a choice. Stay or go."

"Obviously, I'm …"

"Hol' on, I wasn't done. Yeh did righ' by all of 'em, the girl here and the redhead back home, an' the Potter boy as well. An' the Powers, they're impressed. So I won't get in much trouble by tellin' yeh some things, and what trouble I get in," he grinned mischievously, "I ken handle. Things I haveta say might change yer mind."

          "What things?" Grey asked nervously. Jess moved up to stand next to him, and he caught a pleasant whiff of vanilla.

          "Yeh'll hafta 'scuse my cryptic mumbo-jumbo, but s'all I can do without pissin' the Powers off." They nodded. "If yeh go back, yeh'll be in trouble from the get go. Big rifts are brewin' all over tha place, an' danger's are risin' that yeh can't handle. No matter what ya do, yeh won't be the one ta tip the balance, yeh understand? Yeh don't have the power. So yeh can come with me now, an' it'll save yeh seein' some nasty business." His eyes looked sympathetically on his grandson. "It'll save yeh a lot of pain."

          Grey looked at Jess, who wore an impassive face frighteningly similar to his own. On her, though, he had no trouble seeing the tiny hints of suffering leaking through. If he left her now … He thought of Willow, how she looked and felt and laughed. How she could be serious about the most inane things, or calm his crazy fears with her huge smile. How he had never said the words to her that she needed to hear. And he chose.

He reached out and tentatively touched Jess' shoulder.

"You came for me."

"I did. After you came for me."

"Be a shame if I left now, after all that."

          "Sure and it would," she said with a half-smile, half-sob. She threw her arms around him and they hugged each other fiercely.

          After holding her for thirty seconds, he turned back to his grandfather.

          "I have to try and help. Even if I can't, I have to try."

          "I 'spect nothin' less," his grandfather said with pride. "Had ta offer, though."

"I know."

"Yeh should be on yer way, then."

          "It was … it was nice to meet you," he said to his grandfather, offering his hand.

          "I would shake it, but if yeh touch me yeh can't leave," he said. Grey pulled back sharply. "Yeh won't remember too much o' the prophecy part, just the vague notion that bad things're on their way. Ta keep yeh prepared, yeh see. Do me one favor, would yeh?"

          "What's that?"

          "Tell my hard-headed son that I was wrong abou' yer mum. The two of 'em did jus' fine."

          Tears leaked from Grey's eyes as he nodded. Jess gave him a comforting squeeze.

          "Now be gone with yeh, before I get all teary, too," his grandfather said.

          And they were gone.

          From behind a tree, a tall brunette glided over to stand beside Ed.

          "That was a bit much, don't you agree?"

          "Wha'? Tha bit abou' not havin' the power? Had ta be done." A scowl darkened his face. "I don' like it none, but you were there. You heard those bastards say wha' would happen if he doesn't do it. It's extortion, s'what it is, but the Powers get what they bleedin' want, don' they, Luce?"

"Yes, dad, they do. But … if he can't …"

He looked at her sadly.

"We'll haveta wait an' see, luv. We'll haveta wait an' see."

          Jess' eyes shot open. She was still in the infirmary, seated in the sacred circle; Dumbledore and Willow each had a bed, as did Ginny. Tara, Giles, Wesley, and Hermione were watching her closely.

          "D-d-did it work?" Tara asked.

          Jess blinked her eyes clear and nodded. "I think so. I think …"

          At that moment, Grey moaned and opened one eye on the assembled group.

"Hey, everyone," he mumbled. "S'a party…"

          He drifted back off to sleep, but Jess smiled at the others. As usual, Hermione asked the question before anyone else.

"Is it over?"

Jess met her eyes.

"It's over, hon. It's over.


	88. Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax

          Three days after what Ron would forever call "the longest Saturday in history," Hogwarts had almost resumed its normal pace. The end of the term wasn't far off, and once it became clear that Voldemort would not be returning in the immediate future, everyone seemed to realize that, in fact, the end of the term wasn't far off. While Monday became a holiday, classes were back on as usual for Tuesday, and the Gryffindors found themselves once again buried under a pile of homework (though their role in the weekend festivities earned them more than one generous extension).

          Angel's team returned to Los Angeles on Monday; despite her protests, Dawn went back to Sunnydale, chaperoned by Xander. Buffy stayed with Willow, who needed the support; Grey had been studiously staying far away from her since his awakening, and the witch was slowly coming undone because she didn't know why.

          After a short rest restored her, Jess announced that she knew a way to cleanse Dumbledore's system of poisons. By Monday night, he was back in full health, though more than a bit tired. Following a lengthy debriefing of all of the participants, he decided to allow McGonagall to inform the Ministry of the events and went about preparing for the inevitable arrival of its representatives. He knew that meeting would be thoroughly unpleasant.

          The Tuesday morning sun glistened on the surface of the lake. If Grey looked too long, his eyes burned from the bright sparkles swirling on the water and he had to look away. He didn't care. The morning was too warm and too beautiful to stay out of, and he really had too much to think about to care whether his eyes hurt.

          _Could still be dead_, he thought with a grim smile. _Then they wouldn't burn at all._

          "Shouldn't you be in the infirmary? I know Pomfrey wouldn't have let you go yet; she's too much of a mother hen. And what's with those clothes? Some sorta symbolic thing, now that I'm back?"

          He idly hefted a small rock and skipped it across the water, then ran his hands over the crisp white t-shirt and khakis.

          "Is that what you really think," he said, his voice non-committal. 

          "If I had to guess, I'd say it was wash day."

          "Right in one." He still wasn't looking at her.

          "I know you pretty well. You don't look good, new clothes or not, though."

          He nodded curtly. "And you?"

          "Good so far. Your friends were spot on in their research, and Willow … the girl can play."

          "Yeah, she can. So can you."

          "Yeah," Jess said, coming up beside him and dropping down onto the grass, "I can. Lucky for you."

          "Lucky for me." Grey tossed a few more rocks into the water, but none of them skipped decently.

          "Shouldn't you be happier after getting to play Lazarus?" He finally turned, glaring at her with angry eyes. Eyes that wanted to be left alone to brood. She knew them all too well. "Don't you give me that look, David. You've been awake and able to walk about for almost a day, and you've avoided me an' Willow like the plague. Neither of us is happy about it, but she doesn't want to push you."

          "And you do?"

          "It's one of my best things, knowing when you need a push."

          "You need to talk to him, Will, and not through somebody else."

          "Pretty hard to do when he's playing keep-away with himself, Buffy." 

She watched through Giles' classroom window as Jess sat down with Grey at lakeside. They had agreed to let the Irish girl approach him first; she seemed to think that he was avoiding Willow because he didn't want to hurt Jess until he could figure out how to explain things between them. Willow knew better. He was avoiding them both because now he could have Jess back and he didn't know what he wanted. She said as much to Buffy.

          "I thought he told you he loved you," Buffy said, trying to keep her voice even. She was heavily worried that Grey would, in fact, walk away from Willow, and she didn't know if her best friend could take the strain.

          "He did. He does. Except he loves her more, I think. Plus, the weight of history isn't exactly on my side, y'know?"

          Grey watched Jess thoughtfully through hooded eyes, choosing his words with great care. He was not ready for this discussion, not by any stretch, but she deserved some sort of answer. "I have to say a lot of things to you, but I don't know how. I thought it was best to …"

          "Bollocks," she broke in furiously. "We both know what you're going to say and do, don't we?"

          "Maybe," he lied cautiously. This was exactly the quagmire he had hoped to avoid.

          "You do, too, you fuckin' lunkhead. Sure and you haven't decided I'm the stupid one?"

          "Of course not."

          "You think I don't know you love Willow? You think I can't see it?"

          "It's not on hers, either. You're the one who described to me, in detail, the scars that make his chest a checkerboard, remember?"

          "I guess," Willow replied, lacking the energy to argue. "Why can't I just find somebody without so much messiness? I mean, yeah, okay, Oz, but Xander was still making me all tingly, and then Tara – oh, everything's great until, by the way, Oz is back. Now this. Know what the worst part is?"

          "Uh uh."

          "I knew this would happen. Knew about it all year. Knew it when Tara came back, knew it at Christmas, and I knew it when I got involved with him. So it's all my fault that I'm gonna be miserable without him."

          She looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.

          "Oh, Will," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around her friend and hugging her with all of the Slayer strength she could muster.

          Grey's mouth dropped open, aghast.

          "Evil doesn't mean blind, David. What I truly can't figure is why you've been punishing all three of us for the last two days."

          "Punishing? What are you talking about?"

          "You punish yourself by feeling guilty, and you go off an' hide to avoid sayin' stuff that'll make it worse. You punish Willow by avoiding her, and she gets all weepy an' scared that you don't love her. You punish me by not just coming out with it when we both know the deal."

          "But …"

          "Tell me you aren't in love with Willow, an' that you're comin' back to me. Go on."

          He hesitantly met a gaze pregnant with unshed tears.

          "I didn't mean to be in love with her."

          One of the tears escaped, making a mad dash down her cheek.

          "Doesn't mean you aren't."

          "I am. I want to be. I just didn't want to say it or express it without telling you, and I wanted to tell you the way that would … I don't know, that would hurt the least? Does that sound too ridiculous?"

          "Makes no difference. Hurts the same however it comes, because the result's still the same." Jess sucked in a deep breath. "You're with her an' not me."

          "Yeah, I guess I am."

          "You guess?" Her accent got thicker as her anger grew. "You better not be fuckin' leavin' me for an 'I guess,' you bastard! It better be the great fuckin' love of Western civilization if you're leavin' me!"

          His eyes widened in surprise as he stammered out, "I-It's not an I guess. It's real. I love her so much. I …" He reached out and gripped her hand lightly, then bent over and pressed it to his forehead. "Jess, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

          Willow and Buffy both saw him take her hand.

          "We … we should leave them, Buffy," Willow said, her voice cracking with pain. "This is a private moment. I don't wanna intrude. I want him to be happy."

          "Will, do you really think …"

          "They're gonna kiss. Which, seeing that? Way high on my real-life nightmare list. I'm – I'll be up on the roof if Giles or anyone comes looking."

          "Want some company?"

          "No." Her green eyes, rimmed with tears, swept Buffy's pitying expression. "Thanks, but I think two people kinda ruin a good wallow, don't you?"

          "If that's what you think," Buffy said, watching Jess and Grey, "but I think you're wrong. I think it'll be okay.

          Willow shook her head slowly as she left.

          _Besides_, Buffy thought as Grey leaned over, _that's not a passionate reconciliation_. _That's a goodbye_.

          Jess laid her other hand on the top of his head as his hot tears dripped across her knuckles. Part of her wanted to scream, to lash out and hurt him for having the temerity to do this to her. But the rest loved him still, and his happiness meant more to her than her own did.

          "I know you are, hon. I know. It's a'right."

          "It is?" The words came through muffled by her hand and a sniffle.

          "I want you to be happy. Nothin' else. If it's with Willow, then it is. I won't condemn you for it, not after … what I did."

          His head shot up and he gripped her shoulders.

          "No. It's not about that. I don't blame you for that. Voldemort's responsible. For all of it."

          "Fine, Grey, whatever …"

          "No!" He shook her for emphasis. "That was him. Not you. You had no choice. This is not retribution for that. This is about me and about Willow and … oh, Jess. She's so amazing. You don't even know. And as hard and as bad as that must be to hear, it's important. This is not because of what you did to me. That would be infinitely worse, and I won't have you thinking it."

          Their eyes locked, and she saw how fiercely he believed this. She wanted to so badly, but she had done so many terrible things …

          At that moment, he saw her pain laid bare and knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

          "Jessica, listen to me. It was not you who did those things, no matter what it felt like. The woman who did them? I talked to her. I danced with her. I fought her. She was not you. She would have killed Willow before admitting I might be in love with her. You're here to force me to go to her." He pulled her into a hug, clutching the dark fabric of her robe in his hands as her head rested on his shoulder. "She hated me while she loved me, but she didn't hate herself or what she did. You do. She just didn't care – that's what makes you different. Don't let this drag you down; if you do, she wins anyway. And she's very, very dead."

          Jess made no movement except to cry harder.

          They sat like that for several long minutes, crying in each other's arms, making their break with the past. High above, though she wasn't watching, Willow cried with them.

          "Grey," Jess said finally, "I believe you that you don't feel that way."

          "You do?"

          "Maybe not in my heart," she admitted, "but in my head, yeah, I do. I talked with Willow a little. I can see that it'd be about her."

          He nodded slowly.

"I'm leavin' now."

          "Leaving?" Alarmed, he wiped his tears away and stood to block her path.

          "Not leaving Hogwarts, you ninny. God, you're so thick it scares me. I'm leaving here, 'cos you need to talk to Willow." His stomach clenched with guilt when he realized how much pain he must have caused Willow. "An' be with Willow, and tell her what you just told me." The rest of us need a solid cry, anyways."

          He looked at her with pitying eyes.

          "None o' that, now. We're still partners an' friends. Always that. Just not more." 

          He nodded, knowing the words were burning her to say. He wanted to add that he'd always be there for her, but he didn't have to. They both knew it. 

          "I want this for you, if it'll make you happy, which I know it will." She touched his shoulder and leaned in, her final kiss a whisper of grace on his lips. Then she brushed past him, and they were through.

          Red hair flashed like a ribbon of fire as the setting sun bathed Willow with radiance. He tried to tread lightly, but the sound of her sniffling made him move too fast. When she heard him behind her, her whole body stiffened.

          "Willow," he said reverently. When he reached out to touch her, she jerked away.

          "Don't. Just … just say it and get out of here." The face that turned to him looked ghastly, eyes red from crying, hair completely tangled, black robe wrinkled and hanging limply.

          Grey felt two feet tall.

          "Are you sure?"

          She looked away and mumbled, "Yeah."

          "I guess the first thing is, I'm sorry …"

          "You're sorry? Sorry? You … you big jerk-person!" She spun fully around, tears coming again, her waving hands emphasizing each word. "How could you? You know me! You know how … how hard this stuff is for me, and you know how I feel about you, but does it matter? No!" One fist pounded his chest for emphasis. "No, Willow's just a nice diversion while you've got no one else to do, o-o-or maybe it's that you needed my help. Yeah! You needed my help to get your girlfriend back, and, ooh, what better way than to tempt me with your fake I-don't-even-know what word I want to use there, but something grossly sexual, and now that she's back, well, into the discard pile goes the ugly little redhead, a-a-and …"

          She trailed off at the look of horror on his face, not even really knowing where her babble had gone.

          "You think that little of me?" His voice was tiny. "How? Why?"

          "I saw you with her down at the lake."

          "And how did that ever give you any of those ideas? Was it the part where I apologized and told her not to blame herself, or the part where we said goodbye?"

          "G-goodbye?"

          "Yeah. Goodbye." When she didn't speak, he continued, "You really think that I could fake any of that? That I thought you were ugly? How could I possibly think that? I've spent hours staring at you. I could do it forever. You're so beautiful it scares me sometimes. And a fucking diversion? I've spent almost every waking hour with you for eight months. That's a hell of a diversion, wouldn't you say?" Willow turned red and let out a tiny half-gasp, embarrassed by her ranting. "I told you I loved you! Not out loud, sure, but you must have felt what was behind it! You think I could fake that?"

          "N-no…"

          "Damn right!" Anger made his face as red as hers. "You know what she said to me, Willow? She said if I was leaving her, it better be for the great fucking love of Western Civilization. I don't know if it is." He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her face so close that his breath tickled her nose. "But it's the best I ever want to do."

          Then Grey kissed her. Hard.

          After the tiniest pause, she kissed him back until they were both gasping for air.

          "I love you," he said. "I haven't had a single thought about you since you said that to me that didn't begin with 'Willow, who I love'. Not one."

          "But you–you ran away," she said softly, totally overwhelmed by everything he was saying. "When you came back. You avoided me."

"I wasn't choosing between you two, though I guess it seemed like that. I've been all about Willow for awhile now. I just didn't want to hurt her; she's still my closest friend. But you … I love you more than I can say." 

          The next kiss was soft, tender, and lingering.

          "I love you, too," she said through a sprinkling of tears. "I'm sorry I conclusion-jumped."

          "I'm sorry I was so stupid about this."

          Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and he knew everything would be just fine.

          "It's okay," she said, a sly grin forming on her lips. "I'll find some way for you to make it up to me."


	89. Of Cabbages and Kings

            Harry and Ron, sauntering back from Tuesday dinner and anticipating an unfortunate amount of work, ducked behind the nearest corner when they saw the group of five storm into Dumbledore's office.

            "They're not there, right?" Ron asked.

            "In the library, I think," Harry answered. His brow furrowed into a frown. "But they'll find them right off."

            "Think anyone'll get hurt?" They were here for Jess, Ron knew.

            "Oh yeah. Those were Royal Guardsmen, couldn't you tell? We better get help."

            They took off down the hall.

            _In better days, Dumbledore reflected morosely as he looked around the library, _this would have been a staff meeting_. Professors Giles and McGonagall sat at one end of a large worktable, flanked by Jess and Buffy. Spike, and Tara had seats in the middle of the table; Snape sat alone at the far end. __But not now._

_            Now it's a council of war._

            As he often did, Dumbledore pushed aside the internal thunderclouds and gave the assembled group a hearty grin.

            "Thank you all for coming. I know that putting the school back to some semblance of its usual order is a demanding task, and I apologize for distracting you from it, but I felt it imperative that we discuss where to go from here, both individually and as a collective."

            "Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

            "Others, Giles?" Buffy asked.

            "Willow and Grey, perhaps." 

            She responded by raising her eyebrows; Jess and Tara restrained a pair of smirks.

            "Think they're a bit busy, Rupert," Spike said, expelling a small cloud of smoke from his dead lungs.

            "Busy? What on Earth could be more important than …" Giles stopped, realizing what they were doing, and cleared his throat. "Oh dear. Yes, busy, of course. Best that we let them … erm … yes. Busy."

            Buffy chuckled and patted his arm.

            "It's okay, Giles. We know these things are hard for someone in your age bracket to understand."

            "Thank you, Buffy," he said sarcastically.

            "Ahem," Dumbledore interjected, a smile hidden by his flowing beard. "Indeed. Now that we've resolved the issue of our absent compatriots, may we continue?" A chorus of nods circled the room. "Excellent." He looked at Jess, eyes glimmering in the firelight. He chose not to comment on how haggard she appeared or on her red-rimmed eyes. "Let me say again, Jessica, how nice it is to have you back with us. And timely, I might add, at least for my sake."

            "You're more than welcome, Professor. I'm just glad I had the chance."

            "You, and all of you," he went on, gesturing to the group, "did magnificent work this weekend. Incomplete though the victory may seem, we have dealt Voldemort a major blow and unraveled a goodly portion of his plans. There is still much work to be done, of course, which is why I called you together."

            "He'll be back," Jess said, her voice heavy. "No doubt."

            "Tell me, Miss … Jess," Giles corrected himself, "did he perhaps intimate to you anything about what his future plans might be? Anything, no matter how trivial it may seem, could be useful in planning our next moves."

            "I'm sorry, Giles. Not a thing. He's maddeningly careful about security. I know he's been in contact with some nasty groups in the demon and wizarding worlds, but specifics? Nothing. Truthfully," she admitted, "I think he kept me out of it because he doubted my condition was stable."

            "You'd think he have the decency to act like any normal Bond villain," Buffy said.

            "Pretty much a guaranteed no there, hon. Not his way. No giant lasers or Russian satellite weapons for him, either."

            "No one has any style anymore. I mean, is one decent revealing monologue too much to ask for?"

            The elderly wizard smiled again. "Yes, well, I suppose we'll just have to wait for his monologue before we make any plans, then?" Buffy chuckled. She liked that Dumbledore never took things too seriously. "I, personally, would rather continue on. Miss Summers?"

            "Yuh huh?"

            "I don't suppose we can convince you to stay on for the remainder of the term, can we? As an assistant to Professor Giles?"

            Buffy shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Professor. This place is cool, but the Hellmouth kinda demands constant attention. It's very needy that way. Plus I've left Xander with Dawn for too long already. I'm going back tomorrow night."

            "I figured as much, but I thought I might extend the offer nonetheless."

            "Well, thanks for the invite. But hey – all is not lost. Giles is having me do a little Slayer riff for the kids tomorrow. He's going to do the 'One Girl in All the World' thingy too – he loves that."

            Giles gave her a small frown.

            "That should be entertaining; I must come by and watch. Now, Jessica, I think…"

            Before he could say more, the door to the library burst open and Cornelius Fudge stormed in. Sir Robert Grey entered a step behind with three more aurors at his heels. All three wore the red and blue of the Royal Guard. Everyone but the headmaster gaped in astonishment. Jess cringed and began reaching out for her magic.

            "Good day, Minister, Robert," Dumbledore looked more closely at the other aurors, "aah, Jaret, how nice to see you again."

            "Professor," Jaret said, inclining his head.

            "Yes, yes, no time for pleasantries, Albus. We've come to take them away, and don't think you'll be stopping us."

            "Them, Minister?"

            "The O'Brien girl and the Rosenberg girl, of course! We'll retrieve them from the dungeon and be done with it."

            Dumbledore looked perplexed. Giles looked shocked. Buffy looked like she might rip his head off and bowl it across the room. None of them moved, waiting for Fudge to react.

            Fudge glanced around for the first time and saw Jess sitting at the table. He hopped backward, his fat body landing with an undignified thump on the wooden floor.

            "YOU!" His shouting and pointing brought wands out from the three aurors; Jess ignored them. They weren't the real threat.

Sir Robert Grey's face was a mask of implacable rage. A sick feeling erupted in her stomach as she realized with absolute certainty that she was about to die.

"I'm sorry, young sir, but they are not to be disturbed," Sir Cadogan told Harry as he came to the door. Ron had gone after Hermione and the other Gryffindors.

            "It's an emergency," Harry said brusquely, banging on the door.

            "HOW DARE YOU?" Cadogan shouted. "I'll have your guts on my pike for this! I'll MMMFFF…" The door swung open, muffling Cadogan's epithets against the wall. Grey, shirtless and eyes aflame, stood in the doorway.

            "What the hell is going on?" His cheeks were flushed and his head gleamed with sweat. "Harry, what are you doing? This," he paused and leaned down to speak quietly, using the movement to block any view Harry might have of the room, "this is really not a good time."

            "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," Harry said, blushing, "but it's important." He explained what he had seen. Grey's icy calm demeanor returned in an instant, and he looked exactly as he had the day he broke Harry free from the Dursley's.

            "You're right. It is important. We'll sort them out."

            The fury in Grey's father's eyes seemed alive, like it might grab Jess and throttle the life from her before his body could even move.

            It didn't, though. _Leavin' it for his body to finish, she thought, watching him draw his wand._

            "You should know," he said in a completely even voice, "that I intend to enjoy this. To make it last."

            Jess remembered the night in Cansbury, when Grey had kicked her ass and driven her to ground. He had loomed over her, a stark image of death in the bright moonlight. 

His father had the same look on his face now as Grey had then. 

She stumbled to her feet and backed up against the wall, recoiling from his menace.

            "Please, I …"

            "Don't think I don't know that you're healed. I do." He smiled evilly, something she had never seen him do before. She had seen it often enough with Grey, though. He was insane with rage. "I just don't care."

            "That's enough, Robert," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. His wand was out. "Leave her be. You don't know everything."

            "Albus, this is not your concern," Fudge broke in. "The Ministry has decided that Robert has the authority to proceed as he sees fit." The other three aurors raised their wands. Fudge chose his next words carefully. "Do not interfere with the lawful execution of that decision."

Buffy decided it was her turn to move. Sliding out of her chair, she rested one hand on the table and vaulted over it, interposing herself between the new arrivals and Jess.

            "Back off, Tweedledum," she growled at Fudge. He was very much reminding her of Quentin Travers at that moment; the same sort of mindless arrogance had almost cost her Angel, and the memory made her very, very cranky.

Spike quickly followed suit, standing and stepping in front of Jess as a bulwark against an attack; McGonagall rose, wand outstretched, and nodded to Tara, who hurriedly began preparing a defensive barrier. Giles took several steps in the opposite direction, hoping to discreetly recover the loaded crossbow that he kept hidden atop the stacks.

            Robert Grey narrowed his eyes. Their interference made it harder, but so what? "She as good as killed my son, Albus," he said. "If it takes a war with you to make her pay for it, than it does. As I said before, I'm beyond caring."

            "I-I didn't. I wouldn't," Jess said. She slumped against the wall, assaulted by memories. _I wanted to, she thought. _I would have_. Images of other victims flashed through her mind, some bent, others broken, all destroyed eventually. "Not him. But others," she said, her voice strangely resigned, "yeah. Sure and I did enough of them. Whatever it is you want to do … I deserve it."_

            Disbelief crossed the faces of her allies as she slid down the wall and onto the floor, curling herself into a tiny, teary ball.

            "Your son is very much alive," Dumbledore said quietly, watching Jess' silent weeping. "Thanks to her, and her alone, I might add. As am I." He turned his head and met the auror's gaze. "Order of the Ministry or no, you will not harm that girl. She needs help, not punishment."

            "Help? A monster like that? Are you out of your mind, Dumbledore?"

            "Be quiet, Cornelius," Robert said, his voice thick with pain and power. To everyone's surprise, Fudge's open mouth clamped shut. "He's alive?"

            "Very much alive, as advertised, but also very much pissed off," Grey said from behind him. The entire room turned and saw Grey, now wearing a blue t-shirt and wielding a broadsword, flanked by the rest of their group. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville all had their wands trained on the three Royal Guardsmen. Willow had her wand with her as well. She looked less than threatening in her pink flannel pajamas, but she was more than ready to cut loose if things got heavy. "You said you wouldn't go after her."

            "You're still defending her?"

            "She defended us. And saved me."

            "She brought Voldemort and the Death Eaters here."

            "He was coming anyway. We fought them off, with her help. If she hadn't come, we wouldn't have been able to prepare at all. We would have been killed."

            "She tortured you." Unlike his son, Robert was not ready to forgive that. "He … he nearly killed you."

            "It happens." His steely brown eyes locked on his father. "You need to hear the whole story."

            "No," Jess said from the wall. The focus of the room swung back around. "No, let them do it. I deserve it."

            Spike slapped her. Hard.

            "You stupid nit. We spent a long time savin' your arse this year. I spent _weeks_ breathin' that god-awful nancy-boy hair gel Peaches uses just to keep you from getting whacked. You think the Jedi over there's gonna let us hand you over because you feel guilty? Not bloody likely." Her eyes were wide above the red mark where Spike's hand had landed. "Now sit still and let us handle these wankers."

            "Spike?" Grey said quietly. His voice echoed in a room devoid of other sound.

            "Yeah?"

            "I appreciate the help, but hit her again and you lose the arm."

            "Right," he half-turned back to Jess and grumbled, "sorry."

            "This is the most absurd spectacle I have ever been a part of," Fudge said. "You are all in very, very deep right now, do you hear me?"

            No one paid him any attention.

            Dumbledore and Robert were facing off, standing directly opposite one another with wands extended. Fudge might have been titularly in command, but their actions would dictate the outcome, and everyone, even Fudge himself, knew it. The tension was thick enough that you could have carved it up and served it for dinner. Jaret and his fellow aurors, who had seen Willow's power first-hand and had seen the destruction Jess had wreaked at Cansbury, knew they probably couldn't win.

            "We can fight just as easily after you listen to them," Dumbledore said, "but you won't want to. I promise you that."

            Robert looked at his son, standing on the far side of the other aurors. He seemed a little disheveled but in good health. Willow, despite the reports they had received, was clearly on his side. He idly and irreverently wondered where they had been if everyone else was already here. Finally, he looked at Dumbledore. He had no illusions about whether his old Transfiguration teacher could best him in a duel. It would be more a matter of how long he could hold out than if he could win. What would be the point?

            "I've known you for what, thirty years?"

            "Closer to forty, sadly. We're both rather old."

            "We are that." His wand lowered slowly. "You've never lied to me before. I sincerely hope you aren't now."

            Dumbledore smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "As your son is standing behind you, you can see that I'm not."

            "This is preposterous!" Fudge shouted.

            "Minister," McGonagall said, "please. If Robert is willing to hear us out, shouldn't you as well? It is, after all, his son who had supposedly been murdered."

            Fudge glanced around the room. Jaret and the others had holstered their wands, as had Harry and company. If he wanted a fight, it would be him and him alone.

            "Very well. Go ahead."

            The explanation took a long time.

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione were asked to stay in order to explain their roles. No one made any mention of Sirius, and Ron hedged a lot about why the Death Eaters had brought the kids to Snape. Everyone else explained their own parts in turn, giving way to others when the narrative shifted away from them. It was Spike who finished up.

            "Then that bastard Voldemort did his invisibility mojo and Peaches took one in the groin. Not that it should have hurt," he added under his breath, smirking when Buffy glared at him, "an' they bolted off into the woods."

            "Oh my," Fudge said. The message that Voldemort had returned, this time with legions of supporters, had finally sunk in. The tale had aspects of every major attack that Voldemort had ever undertaken, and the tellers obviously had not been bewitched into imagining his presence. As stubborn a blow-hard as Fudge may have been, he was no fool. The truth had humbled him. "I've been very wrong, haven't I," he said to Dumbledore when they were finished describing the spells that had brought Jess back.

            "Yes, Cornelius," the wizard said frankly, "you have."

            "What happened to you?" Robert asked his son. "Obviously, the _Avada Kedavra _spell didn't kill you."

            "_Merlin's Salve_," Jess answered. They were the first words she had spoken in nearly an hour. "I know how to do it."

            "Thank you," he said gravely. She nodded.

            "Yes," Fudge said to her, "You … you've done well. I'm quite sorry for … well, for the lot of it. I treated you rather shabbily, I suppose." Even that grudging admission surprised Grey.

            "You weren't wrong about me, Minister," she said. "I am responsible for some gruesome things, don't you know. Much as some people might disagree," she glanced at Grey, who watched impassively, "you probably did the right thing. I should be locked up."

            "You think so," Grey said.

            "We don't. And you won't be," Willow added. Grey squeezed her hand.

            "I'm afraid I have no choice in that matter," Fudge said. "She is correct; she cannot be allowed to escape punishment."

            "Try it," Grey said calmly. His sword came up from the floor in an instant.

            "I don't wish to fight you, Dave. I truly don't. But the rather unpleasant fact is that she has admitted her role in the Cansbury attack. 400 dead, 22 of them aurors. I can't turn a blind eye towards that, nor to the fifteen dead children in October. The people expect the Ministry to handle these matters."

            "B-but she was under a sp-spell," Tara said. "She didn't act out of her own free will."

            "You're guilty for stuff you do if you're mind-controlled here? Yikes. I'll take the land of the free, thank you very much."

            "Buffy…"

            "What, Giles? I'm just saying…"

            "Never mind."

            "Is it public knowledge that she attacked Cansbury?" Robert asked.

            "Not … not officially, no," Fudge replied.

            "And on Halloween, nobody really saw her except for us," Harry chipped in. "Everybody else was too busy running for the door, and before that, she was in costume. They mostly saw those gnolls bashing people upside the head."

            "It doesn't matter." Fudge shook his head indignantly. "I must detain her."

            "Perhaps I might suggest a solution?" Dumbledore broke in, eyes twinkling. He laid out a plan that, as he spoke it aloud, sounded better and better. He so loved the opportunity to be devious. "What do you think?"

            "That's … that's not possibly believable."

            "Come now, Cornelius, why not?"

            "I like it," Spike announced. "If they don't buy it, sod 'em."

            "D-definitely," Tara agreed.

            "I'd buy it," Willow affirmed.

            "The representative from California votes yay," Buffy declared.

            "No."

            Grey gave Jess a hard look. "Yes."

            "Don't you order me about, you bastard," she said. She sounded on the brink of another crying jag. "It's my life, and I'm tellin' you that … that I need to pay for the stuff I did."

            "You misunderstand, Miss O'Brien," Dumbledore responded. "By no means did I suggest that you be allowed to run free. I think something suitably creative might be in order, however." He turned to Fudge. "You might leave her here, Minister, where I can closely watch her and oversee her rehabilitation. House arrest, if you will, though not publicly announced."

            "It wouldn't be right," she said again.

            "I-it might be," Tara said, walking over and laying her hands on the girl's shoulders. She felt terribly bad for Jess, but also, with her loss of Grey and Tara's loss of Willow, somehow close to her. "If you stay here and help train s-some other kids, you can make up for what you've done. A-and if Voldemort attacks, you can protect them. If they s-send you away, what good can you do?"

            "Tara knows what she's talking about," Willow said. "Yeah, okay, I never killed people with my magic, and I didn't do torture or anything either, but I did some pretty bad stuff. A-a-and this," she waved her hands at Hogwarts in general, "this has totally helped me deal with it and figure out how to make up for it. I … I still don't feel like I have, really, but I'm trying." Grey wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned back into him with a soft sigh.

            Jess looked expectantly at Fudge, hoping he would side with her. He stared at her for a long second, blinked, then spoke to Dumbledore.

            "I don't know, Albus." He seemed to be searching for something to do with his hands, and settled on twisting the loose fabric of his robe in them. "Politically, this has the makings of a disaster."

            "It could be that, or potentially it could be a beautiful coup. And is the politics so important?"

            Fudge raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _Are you daft?_ "I still believe I have given you entirely too much free rein here. In the future, I expect you to follow my guidance. Especially with the crisis at hand."

            "As I have said before, Minister, we are on the same side. I will continue to work towards ending it, as I have done before. Especially with the crisis at hand."

            "Very well." He turned back to Jess, knowing he would have to deal with Dumbledore at a later time. "Young lady, you will be held here, by my authority, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release you from house arrest. Should you say anything at any time about your role in the events of the past year, I expect you to adhere to the version we have just discussed. Failure to do so will bring about the most harsh consequences imaginable. Am I clear?"

            Uncertainty marred Jess' face. She knew she shouldn't get off this easily, but what choice did she really have? And Tara was right. Here she could atone for what she'd done, rather than rot away in Azkaban wallowing in guilt.

            "Yes, Minister."

            "Well, I suppose that settles things, does it not?" Dumbledore asked.

            "Hmmph … yes," Fudge replied. "Though I'm not entirely comfortable with it." He stood from his chair and motioned to the aurors to do the same. "Albus, can you make your way to the Ministry next Thursday? I believe we should discuss all of this … disturbing information in greater depth."

            "Of course, Minister."

            "Robert?"

            "I'm going to stay for a bit, Cornelius," he said, eyeing his son. "Some matters I need to settle." Grey nodded; he knew a long talk would be in order, though it would thankfully be easier than the last one.

            "I see." Fudge glanced around at the rest of the room. "Good day to you all." He departed, the aurors following closely.

            When they were gone, Buffy broke the silence.

            "Well, that was the most fun you can have without really having any."

**            Later …**

_            The Daily Prophet_

_            June 7, 2003_

**_Ministry of Magic Decries Death Eater Resurgence_**

_Warns Conflict Likely to Widen_

_            (London, UK) – In a startling reversal, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge revealed today that despite its oft-emphasized public stance to the contrary, the Ministry has been aware of the return of the Death Eaters for more than a year._

_            "Of course we knew," Mr. Fudge told Daily Prophet reporters Andrew Stoneleigh and Sarah Rothschild in an exclusive interview. "Did you people honestly believe that we would not? We are doing everything in our power to stop it from becoming worse." _

_            When the Daily Prophet initially speculated about widespread sightings of the Dark Mark, Ministry officials suggested that such occurrences were misinformation or "fairy tales." Raids on Ministry institutions, including the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Refuge for Unusual Wildlife, were dismissed at the time as isolated incidents._

_            Mr. Fudge asserted today that both were part of an orchestrated campaign of violence by a group modeled after You Know Who's Death Eaters._

_            "We believe that they have taken up the symbols of previous malefactors in order to inspire a greater degree of fear in the populace at large," Mr. Fudge said. "We would like to stress that the Ministry is very aware of their activities and has taken all appropriate measures to halt them."_

_Mr. Fudge further explained that Ministry denial of the issue encouraged these current malefactors to expose themselves rashly. "By denying their existence, the Ministry and its aurors were able to work against them more effectively," he added. "We instituted a number of deterrents, without which these attacks would have been ghastly in their scope."_

_When asked if 400 dead in Cansbury was not ghastly, the Minister had no comment._

            _While Mr. Fudge would not provide specific details of auror operations against the new Death Eaters, the Daily Prophet has confirmed independently the existence of at least two such operations. According to Daily Prophet sources, Jessica O'Brien, an auror and graduate of Hogwarts (Gryffindor '98), was placed undercover within the Death Eater ranks. Miss O'Brien had reportedly been relieved of duty more than a year ago, along with her partner, David Grey, after an undisclosed incident between the pair and Mr. Fudge._

_            Mr. Fudge now claims no such incident occurred. "Nonsense. Though they resigned last year, Jess and Grey remain respected members of the auror community." He went on to imply that the Daily Prophet misrepresented the facts at the time. "We had a difference of opinion. It was never more serious than that."_

_            A Daily Prophet source with access to the upper echelons of the Ministry indicated that in fact their departure occurred only as a cover for their true activities. Miss O'Brien, our source claims, went undercover with the Death Eaters after her departure. Ministry gossip suggests that her assignment to flush out Death Eater schemes was a total success and "thousands of lives were saved," according to another source. Miss O'Brien is currently convalescing from her ordeal under the supervision of Albus Dumbledore._

_Mr. Grey, who like Miss O'Brien did not return owls seeking comment, is the son of the esteemed auror Sir Robert Grey. He has spent the past year at Hogwarts as the Deputy Head of Gryffindor house. The Daily Prophet has learned that he was actually employed as additional security for the school, and in fact worked with Miss O'Brien to foil the brunt of the Death Eater assault on Cansbury and each of the assaults on school grounds._

_            Mr. Fudge had no comment about their activities except to affirm that neither was currently in the employ of the Ministry._


	90. Here Endeth the Lesson

            Giant crimson canvasses adorned with golden lions swathed the walls and tables of the dining hall. Every plate was full of delicious treats and the air rattled with the sound of joyous laughter and banging cutlery. At the head table, Grey and McGonagall had each donned maroon dress robes trimmed in gold; Willow and Tara followed suit. Near Spike's chair, Sirius lay in dog form, watching the festivities. A red and gold ribbon had been tied around his leg.

            The final banquet of the year was in full swing.

            "… Still can't believe you guys did that," Ginny said to Harry over the din. "I've never seen anybody play like that."

            "Don't give me credit for it. Your brother came up with it; I just chased the Snitch down."

            "A helluva job, that," Ron added. "And in the first playoff game ever, too."

            "Ron, language?"

            "But it was, 'Mione. Harry ran the thing down like nobody's business."

            "'Course," Harry said, "you hadn't set that pick on Malfoy, I'd have been beaten for sure."

            "Can you lot just admit you play well together and stop with the goin' on," George said from several seats away. "Been hearin' this for a week."

            "Aw, you're just bitter 'cos we've got more Quidditch to play and you're all old an' done," Ron retorted.

            Fred and George both glared at him with sour faces.

            "So," Willow said, leaning over, her voice slightly anxious, "you still haven't told me what you're doing for the summer."

            Grey smiled. He hadn't meant to keep it secret, but he had been waiting for her to ask. "I hear California's pretty nice. If only I knew somebody to stay with … Hey! You're from there, right? I could stay with you!" She punched him on the arm. "What was that for?"

            "You didn't tell me you were coming back to Sunnydale with me."

            "Guess not. Must've, I dunno, wanted to surprise you or something. Besides, what else would I do? My grand quest is over. I'm a free man."

            Her eyes narrowed. "Grrr. I was all nervous about what you were doing. You're gonna pay for that, mister."

            "Promise?"

            Giles watched as Grey kissed her lightly on the mouth, a small smile on his face.

            "I suppose this has worked out for the best, hasn't it? They go quite well together."

            "I agree, Minerva. I most certainly agree."

            "Tell me Rupert," she said, having overheard Willow and Grey, "what are your summer plans?"

            "Undecided, as of yet. I should think I'll make at least one trip to Sunnydale, strictly in a visiting capacity, but otherwise I intend to relax a bit. I've given some thought to re-reading some literature that I haven't read in ages. The other day Willow returned my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, which seems as good a place to start as any.Yourself?"

            "I have an assignment from Albus that I could use some help with. I think it might be something that requires your deft research touch."

            "I do appreciate the compliment, but would you mind telling me what we'd be looking for before I sign my summer away?"

            McGonagall offered a pinch smile. "You Know Who has his allies. He's been recruiting them from all over. Albus thought it might be useful to find some of our own, and I want to know where to look. Interested?"

            "H-hey," Tara said. The evening was warm, and the light breeze ruffled her hair. "N-n-not hungry?"

            "Not much, no," Jess replied. She had her back resting against one of the walls facing the courtyard and her robes tucked under her legs. "You?"

            "Finished already. I th-thought you might feel like talking."

            "Not just now. But thanks."

            They waded through a few minutes of awkward silence before it got to be too much and Jess spoke again.

            "So you headed back to the States for the holiday?"

            "Uh uh. I'm staying here this summer."

            "Really?" Jess canted her head. "God, girl, why are you doin' that?"

            "Remember a few weeks ago? Wh-when my eyes went all white?" Jess nodded. "I want to know why. And maybe more about what happened when we did that spell on the grass? Why it worked so well? Professor Dumbledore said he'd help me figure it out."

            "Huh," she said thoughtfully. Jess was curious about that as well. "Y'know, with you an' me an' Willow, pretty soon it's not gonna be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It'll be the Albus Dumbledore Center for the Rehabilitation of the Magically Bent."

            Tara laughed.

            "Speakin' of things we can't believe," Ron said to Harry and Ginny, "how 'bout 'Mione's O.W.L.'s?" A small round of applause went up from the others.

            Hermione blushed as Ron's hand caressed her back. "Oh come on, it isn't such a big deal."

            "Not a big deal?" Ron's voice overflowed with pride. "Are you kidding? I don't think you could possibly have gotten more."

            "Not in the time she had," Harry said, tongue-in-cheek. The irony of Ron's pride in his girlfriend's know-it-all status never failed to amuse Harry. "Really, Hermione, it's great."

            "You guys did well, too."

            "We survived. I'll take that. Even with Snape."

            "I sort of think Tara helped with that, Ron." The older witch had hinted to Neville that she had held Snape off of failing them all. "But it's a good thing, sure. Hey, d'you guys have plans for the summer yet?"

            "It's the Dursley's for me." Harry's eyes fell.

            "Don't worry, Harry. If you're not at the train this fall, we'll come straight away."

            Hermione grimaced, but nodded her agreement, as did Ginny and Neville.

            "My mum said you could come stay with us for the last few weeks," Ginny said through a smile, which Harry then returned. "I think I'll be getting a talk before it though." Ron blanched; Ginny smiled innocently at him. "Don't know why."

            "My parents are taking me to America for a week, right before the start of school. They want us to go to Diagon Alley with your parents again afterwards, though, Ron. Will that be okay?"

            Ron nodded, happy to have the subject changed. "Sure. Gotta go anyway. Harry? Neville?"

            "If I'm out at your place anyway, why not?"

            "Sure, I can do that."

            At the dais, Spike watched the rejoicing throng blankly, his mind adrift with thoughts of Buffy.

"So you're not riding the Willow express home?" Buffy had asked right before her departure for Sunnydale weeks before. She was unable to keep all of the hope from her voice. "Okay, that sounded bad. But you know what I mean."

            He had looked her over, soaking in the gorgeous sight of her under the waning moonlight. They had been dancing around each other for days, neither asking any serious questions nor wanting any serious answers.

            "No, I haven't changed my mind in the last two days, Slayer."

            "No?"

            "Got some things to take care of, pet." Smoke from his cigarette curled between them, the haze blurring the sharp lines of her face. He stamped it out, wanting to see her clearly. "Got some things to take care of," he muttered again.

            "So that's it? You're just gone, off to who knows where?"

            "I'll be back, Slayer. Jus' not for a bit is all."

            She hadn't liked that much, he remembered, but hadn't stormed off, either. They had just sort of … drifted into a goodbye that wasn't final or fleeting. It certainly wasn't satisfying. But he had been right. He had things to take care of.

            _Good a time as any_, he thought, rising from the table.

            He stepped off the dais and strode down the center aisle. With his black duster streaming behind, he attracted a fair amount of attention as he passed. He paused next to Neville.

            "'Ey, Boy Wonder."

            "Spike?"

            "Listen, I'm takin' off. Got things ta do. You all square with what you need to practice?" He nodded. "Right then. You take care." He turned to go, but Neville's voice spun him back for a brief second.

            "Spike?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Thanks."

            "You're welcome." Spike whisked himself out of the hall.

            Grey and Sirius caught up with him in his dungeon.

            "You're leaving tonight?" Sirius asked.

            "Have to. They gotta get the train back for the little kiddies in the morning. Too much sun's bad for my skin, y'know?"

            "Where?"

            "Dunno, Jedi. Thinkin' maybe I'll start in Cairo. Heard about this guy, demon fella in Africa, supposedly does miracles for the right price. Thought I might hunt him down."

            "If that doesn't pan out?"

            "Guess I'll find somethin' else," Spike replied, thinking of the Don's offer. "Tryin' to get the best deal I can."

            "Makes sense." Grey extended his hand; surprised, Spike shook it. "Good luck."

            "Thanks, mate. 'Preciate it." Grey nodded and left, knowing Sirius wanted to speak with Spike alone.

            "So you're off to see the wizard," Sirius said once Grey had gone.

            "Thought you didn't know about movies?"

            "I heard Willow say it to Grey the other day. I don't know what it means." 

Spike thought about explaining, but didn't bother. "Yeah. I'm off."

"You really think you can find a soul?"

"How'd you know?"

"Dumbledore told me, asked me if I had heard of anything that might help."

            "Great man, Dumbledore. Offered to help, but didn't know much useful."

            "I don't either. I'm sorry."

            "Are ya, then, Puddles?"

            "I'm hoping a soul will make you less annoying."

            "Fat chance o'that."

            "I suppose not." Sirius reached into the pocket of his robe and clutched something in his fist. "I've been thinking about L.A. What the Don said to you, and that Cassandra woman. Prince of Lust?" Spike nodded. "Ups the ante right quick, doesn't it? That plus Buffy means you've got a lot at stake here. No pun intended."

            "What of it?"

            "Unfortunately, in spite of the fact that you're a pillock, I'd rather not see you miss out on that stuff." His fingers unfurled, revealing a small metal talisman on a short chain. "If you're dust, I've got no one to pub crawl with but Hagrid, and I can't keep up with him." He looked the vampire straight in the eye. "You need help, give me a shout. I'll be around."

            Spike took the talisman; he had no idea what to say.

            "You're welcome," Sirius said as the door closed behind him.

            From the hill next to the Quidditch pitch, Grey and Willow watched Spike board the train. With the station so empty, it looked like a scene from a ghost town in an old western.

            "It's … he looks so lonely," Willow said. She burrowed deeper into Grey's arms; he brushed the hair off her neck and kissed it softly.

            "He'll get his happy ending, Will."

            "What if he doesn't?"

            "You care that much?"

            "You sound so surprised. I like Spike. He's not like anybody else I've ever met. And he's … well, he's one of the gang, now. I worry about them. Plus, Buffy's really in love with him, I think. I'm gonna haveta get her to spill when we get back to Sunnydale."

            "She'll tell you. Ply her with ice cream." Willow giggled, knowing it would work. "I like him, too. If he doesn't get his happy ending, we'll get it for him." 

            "Good." She turned her head, looking up into his dark brown eyes. He kissed her forehead.

"Did I mention that I'm really in love with you?"

            She feigned shock. "You are?"

            "I am." He kissed her neck again, rocking her back and forth in his arms. "Really a lot."

            "This year was kinda crazy, huh?"

            "Very crazy. Worked out though, didn't it?"

            "Well, sure it did, 'cuz, you know, we stopped the Big Bad and saved your friend, and we fixed things with me and Tara, which was so good. I never thought we'd do it."

            "Plus, I got the girl."

            "Plus, you got the girl." She kissed him lightly with her smile. "And Spike and Buffy are at least closer to fixing their mess, and I made all those new friends, and we helped the kids get together, and now I can control my magic better so I'm not as afraid of evil Willow appearing, though I kinda still am, but …" 

            He cut her off with a finger to her lips. 

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

            "You're babbling."

            "Oh! Sorry! I hate when …"

            "I love it."

            "You do?" She smiled shyly. "What about me? Do you love me?"

            "You know I do. Now shut up and kiss me again."

            So she did.

~End~

********************************************************************

Author's Afterward: Behind the Scenes of **_Fighting the Good Fight_**

            So it's done. Four months later. Oy. This wasn't s'posed to be a long piece, you know? Not long at all. But there it is. They don't get much longer. Think of this part as the liner notes for it – you certainly don't need to read it, like watching the Behind the Scenes feature on a DVD, but I personally like glancing behind the curtain. If you don't, let me say real quickly: thanks for reading. I appreciate it. If you want to peek backstage, read on. This was supposed to be Chapter 91, but I'll just stick it here.

            So you've read the whole thing. 300 frickin' pages. Spike's off to Africa, Harry's off to the Dursley's. They've had Last Call, the bar lights are flashing, and Hagrid's calling the cab.

But wait, you say. It can't end here. Spike doesn't have a soul. Things with him and Buffy aren't resolved. And who the f&*#%#g heck is the Prince of Lust? Oh yeah, what about Sirius? Will he stay or go? Plus, as some suggested earlier, what's up with Snape and Tara? Was I hinting at something between Jess and Xander? Will Malfoy's dad kill him? What's Voldemort up to? Will Fudge fire Dumbledore? And of course, the Final Jeopardy, Big Whammy Question: Are Fred and George gonna open their joke shop?

            You all probly guessed from the questions above, plus my earlier message that 90 chapters was it, but … 

**::DRUMROLL::**

            Sequel. Yep. Already in the works, ink (electrons?) on paper (disk?) and everything. It's called **_A Dark and Deadly Valley_, which is a much cooler title than ****_Fighting the Good Fight_. Figure the first bits will be out for consumption on FF.net by, say, May 1, 2003. This doesn't mean not earlier, but very definitely not later. As for the rate at which new bits will arrive, probly the same time frame we saw later on in _FTGF: a few chapters every 5-10 days. Best I can do, and it's set in stone. My brain won't always work. It's a bummer, but I won't post crap, and I need at least 5 days between postings to make sure I'm on track – generally stuff is done being written 10 days before posting, even if posts are closer together. I'm a binge writer. I'm sorry if it's too slow for y'all, but it's how it works._**

             As for what happens in _DADV_, well, no {major} hints here. I know some of it. Not all. Some. I know how it ends, and a little bit in between, and how it begins. I get an evil laugh and steepled fingers just thinking about it (Mwua ha ha). Expect to see some old friends, and a little more of Hagrid, who I kinda gave short shrift too (I actually only added the thing with the imps to give him more screen time – came in handy later, though, eh?). There'll be more Spike, much more Xander and Dawn and Buffy (just 'cuz it's a BTVS/HP doesn't mean all things happen at Hogwarts, does it?), and less Willow/Grey (though not too much less Willow, since the point of this was to write a Willow story, and I like writing her most – Spike's a close second, and Neville, Hermione, and Ron are tied for third). More on the Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione relationships (the course of true love never did run smooth, or some such nonsense). Actually, it'll probly be a lot more Hogwarts, and also a lot less. What does that mean? More school-type things I didn't do here, but overall less of the story will occur at Hogwarts.

            That's all. No more hints for you. 

Now, that said, a few words about _FTGF: Hoofnagel. Vincente. Albion. Flux._

            Just kidding. I'm a little giddy about finishing something so massive. I want to, of course, thank everyone who was a part of this process, meaning those of you who read and reviewed and emailed with me about it; those of you who read and reviewed; and those of you who simply slogged through and read this far. It's been a way fun diversion from the wackiness of life. The reviewers, especially, I want to thank. I have a bunch of 'em tacked up at my desk (reviews, not reviewers – what's wrong with you?!?); they batter the hell out of writer's block and writer's fatigue (which is when you're too tired to hit the keyboard, so you turn on the Playstation). And thanks again to everyone who heard my plea post-_NWAF and reviewed then, too. Those were stunning in their praise, and I'm most appreciative._

            I'd repeat my plea to review again, but honestly, I don't have the energy to do so at length. If you're this deep in, please do review, even if you're way lazy and never do. It'll be your good deed for the day, and after 300 pages, you must've thought something. It will aid me as I recharge to start this all over again.

            Anyway, back to my few words about _FTGF. Hmm. You probly don't know, but there wasn't s'posed to be any romance in this. It was so very not going to be a Willow/Grey romance. I swore it wouldn't, b/c I don't like reading Willow/Other stories. I'm a Willow/Spike or Willow/Xander guy, and actually I kind of think W/O is lame, which is totally bizarre, I know – I see Grey as part Xander, part Spike, part Skywalker (the Skywalker who marched into Jabba's Palace, not the moisture-farming, whiny pansy from the first movie), so it's okay. I also think I've made his insecurities mesh well with Willow's, which makes it more of a real relationship (read: not always completely at ease with each other despite how they know they feel, because they perceive something to be afraid of, even if there's nothing there). And yes, I developed him that way on purpose once I realized that I had found my story's center in their relationship. It just made me grouchy for a while to break my own rule._

            For those of you who are maybe wondering about the Mary Sue-ishness of Grey, as some reviewers have, let me state for the record: his baldness and his choice in books are mine. Otherwise, the dude is nothing like me, and who he is was (thankfully) dictated by the story. I think he's a character who fits well in the story and well with Willow (like I said before, I scooped the parts I like about Xander and Spike, mixed with a dash of insecurity because he got hurt badly by his first love, just like Willow). 

The truth is, and this is why I added anyone at all, that Voldemort's return would affect the wider world of wizards as much or more than Hogwarts. I wanted to be able to include that element in the story going forward, especially when already widening it beyond the school with BTVS, and Grey, as a former auror and all-around badass, gives legit entrée to that. The bad guys have Lucius Malfoy and a score of others running around in that part of the world doing mischief; I thought it only fair that the good guys get someone besides Arthur Weasley and Sirius (Fudge doesn't count - he's neutral at best and obstructive at worst – and neither does Dumbledore, since he's bound to Hogwarts) to do the same, and they do in his father. Toss in his grandfather and aunt to interface with the PTB, which I did (though their role will never be extensive) and his ex-fiancee as a loose cannon rolling around on the deck, and now things are interesting. I'm hoping you agree, if you've gotten to this point. Also keep in mind that you don't know everything about Grey yet … and yes, those are ominous bells tolling in the background for thee.

            Plus, how cool is it to have a Jedi in the mix? I couldn't resist.

            I think, too, that when I started with this my perceptions were all boxed in by the books, the show, and other HP/BTVS stuff I'd read. I didn't really have my own voice with these characters (if you write a lot, you know what I mean), which I hated, and trying to find it was one of the reasons I pushed so hard, so fast at the beginning (those of you who were there saw me updating almost nightly). I've got it now, and using the Grey/Willow/Jess triangle really spurred that on. I don't regret it at all. Things started to click 'round about the time I put the Halloween sequence together and got Ron and Hermione paired off, then spiraled from there. I'm really excited about _DADV_ because it's almost a clean slate, and I've got some more ideas that I think are gonna be seriously wacky and fun (in a good way) – stuff I couldn't fit into _FTGF but that has been turning over in my head for months. You'll see what I mean almost right away._

Best moment of writing this, though (besides the first reviews, which got me all fired up) was the day I rode home on the subway and the whole Halloween story came into my head all at once. I planned it out in ten minutes, and I still think it's the coolest part of the whole thing when Grey asks Jess to dance (except maybe Ginny/Harry's second kiss, which leaves me all smiley. I'm kind of a sap). My other personal favorite moment is when Willow touches Grey's cheek and says, "I really like you." Makes me all teary, which is weird with something that's my own work. 

Same subway epiphany happened with the last two chapters of **Not Without a Fight**, but the Halloween stuff felt cooler. The subway – it's an under-appreciated writing tool.

            Also there wasn't supposed to be any Tara, but she showed up (and I have more fun writing her than I thought. I can't wait to dig into her and Snape – and that does not mean they're getting together, so don't read it that way. Of course, it doesn't mean they aren't, either…). You may not have guessed, but I have a hard time writing Harry for some reason. I like how it came out, but it was more of a struggle than a lot of the rest. Probly stems from me being a BTVS guy (though I love HP, obviously).

A few words on chapter titles: for those who might wonder (maybe no one?) I started with the Roman-numbered episodes after a resurgence in my comic book reading (which I hadn't done in years – I think it was a little Grey-inspired and a little inspired by some of the Season 7 Andrew-Xander exchanges on BTVS). I just think it's a neat way to break it up, and that's how comics do it. It looks better in Word than on FF.net, though. **Jaws of the Hellmouth **is one of my favorites, just because I think it sounds cool. **Neville the Boy Wonder** …hmm, obvious Robin reference. More will be said about Neville's training in the sequel. Much more. **Idle Hands** refers to the old saying about idle hands being the devil's plaything (or something like that – also a not so good Seth Green movie). The subtitle **Avengers Assemble** is obvious; it was originally titled Assembly**, **whichis a reference to an issue by the same title from Batman's _No Man's Land_ storyline that I absolutely love. It inspired that whole chapter, which I wrote, erased, and rewrote before deciding it was right for the story. **Questing**, though not original or unique, was Monty Python and the Holy Grail-inspired in its name, and bad action movie inspired in its plot. Every story needs one of those ultra-cliché bust-up scenes in someone's office, followed by an ambush. I couldn't resist. The Aerosmith song Cass plays for Spike is _Flesh_ off of _Get a Grip_, which I was listening to randomly one day. I'm not really a big Aerosmith fan, despite the two references to it (see below for the other). They just kind of worked. 

**Really** might be the most apt chapter title, and one of the few I took from the text. That exchange was the first part of that chapter I wrote; the rest went unwritten for days. **Reassessment **is possibly the worst title in the whole lot. I was plumb out of ideas, and never thought that chapter would make it in. I had this whole other idea about Willow teaching a Dark Arts class and Snape subbing for Giles and them fighting … but I wrote it and it really sucked. Plus I felt Tara was underused, so I moved it around a bit. **Countdown** came about as an accidental adjunct to that. I hadn't planned on Curly being an assassin, but suddenly I had no way to get from the end of **Questing** to the opening of **Not Without a Fight **and boom, it appeared. **Not Without a Fight **is a phrase I lifted from the Aerosmith tune _Shut Up and Dance_. I just liked how it sounded – it seemed to fit what I saw happening. **All Along the Watchtower **is a double reference. The Dave Matthews live version was on when I was writing this, plus the Justice League of America has their base on the moon, the Watchtower, and the Hogwarts people are sort of waiting for Voldemort to appear. For those of you who don't know, when Grey says "We're paying you, aren't we?" and Jess responds with "You can keep the five bucks, I've had it," that's from _Ghostbusters_ – the opening scene where Bill Murray is conducting bogus psych tests. "It IS a star." I love that bit, though it's kind of obscure.

I'm a pop culture fiend, I tell you.

**All Around the Afterlife** is a reference to _Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey_ ("We've been to the future. We've been to the past. We've been all around the afterlife."). Seemed appropriate, since they don't have a Circle K at Hogwarts. This was another piece I wrote, cut, and put back in. I thought (and sort of still think) it fits a little oddly there, but I know where it's leading and eventually it'll fit better. Finally, **Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax **and **Of Cabbages and Kings** are from the poem _The_ _Walrus and the Carpenter_ by Lewis Carroll. I hate that poem but love those lines ("The time has come, the Walrus said/To talk of many things/Of shoes and ships and sealing wax/Of cabbages and kings/And why the sea is boiling hot/And whether pigs have wings."). Those two chapters were really about talking out all the leftover stuff, so it seemed appropriate to me. Chapter 89 went through about 8 versions over three weeks, all of which sucked; people were put in and removed from the meeting. Buffy hit Fudge at one point. Fudge did in fact fire Dumbledore in another. Early on, I had not written the Afterlife chapter and had Grey wake up when Fudge arrived. I had Sir Robert Grey arrive first and fight it out with Fudge. 

It worked out much better the way I actually did it, in the end. You could (and I have thought about it long and hard – agonized over it, you could rightly say) argue that Fudge might not cave, but the spin reflected in the _Daily Prophet_ article is the one that a political operator like Fudge would pursue, since it casts him in the best light, and even an unreasonable person would finally admit that Voldemort had returned. FYI, that's the longest chapter of the story, because I couldn't find a suitable place to split it up. It's about 8 times as long as the shortest chapter (**The Vampire and the Geek**), which was way too short.

Okay, I'm about out of things to say. I hope it was a nice peek into the process for you. I always like that stuff; I figure someone else does too. 

If you're curious about anything, drop me an email (dgise@yahoo.com); I'm happy to respond, and I'll try and be prompt. I was thinking that since this is ongoing, I might crack open one of those Yahoo Groups thingies as a sort of discussion forum for it (and, I guess, HP/BTVS generally, though there are others of those), but I don't know if that's worth it. If you have a feeling on that one way or another, email me.

If email's not your bag, or you have nothing to say, hey, that's cool. Glad you enjoyed _FTGF. I'll be eagerly awaiting hearing what you think of the sequel. Thanks again. - 40_


End file.
